Trying Too Hard
by wbss21
Summary: When a new crime organization starts making moves in Gotham's underground, Batman is going to need all the help he can get.  And he ends up finding it in the most unlikely of allies.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everybody. So you all probably remember this story. I started it a long while ago, and it seemed to be getting really good reception at the time. I'd decided to take it in the direction of slash a few chapters in, and still, it seemed to be getting positive reviews, etc… Well, in the last few chapters of it I posted, I think it really started to fall off and lose direction. I got so frustrated with the whole thing that I ended up just deleting it. A decision which, in retrospect, I regret. Because I really was enjoying writing this story. Sooo, I'm posting it again, but I've gotten a new idea of the direction I'd like to take it and now have a clear view of its plot and how it's going to develop. So it's going to have a lot of the same stuff as before, with a whole bunch of new stuff added. No slash, me thinks. But I think you guys will enjoy it. It'll go deeper then just sex, lol. Anyway, let me know what you think anyhow, and I PROMISE I'm going to actually finish it this time.**

**Trying Too Hard:**

**Chapter 1:**

He could feel them. Hanging relentlessly to his legs, to his arms; on to his back, pulling him, _forcing_ him down, so that all Batman could do was watch as the hulking man before him stood, his glowing hands stretched out over the limp, unmoving form of the Joker. Only watch as those hands reached down, lifting him in to the air like some weightless rag-doll, swinging him back, smashing his frail frame against the hard stone of the wall behind.

A gasp escaped the clown's lips, and the man leaned in to him, pressing a forearm against his throat.

"You all shall be _slave_ to me!" He roared. "_You_ most especially. _Chaos_ at my command. Gotham is _mine_ to rule and your _pathetic _attempts at resistance will yield nothing but your own _misery_!"

The Joker lifted his chin, trying to relieve the pressure against his windpipe, his hands coming up to hold sadly against the arm of his attacker.

His usually immaculate attire was torn, hanging in shredded ribbons off his thin body, flapping uselessly in the wind, his thin, white face smeared in crimson, dripping from his nose and mouth and all the many cuts along his skin.

He laughed weakly.

"Y-ya know, if you wanted to take over this town as badly as all that… hmph… you could'a… just tried a…asking. I mean, Batsy wanted my help and all he had to do was… was ask. Ain't that right Batsy?" He called over to the now restrained vigilante, glancing his way, smiling and winking.

Batman stared back, his mouth turned to a frown, his eyes sorry.

The Joker looked away.

"I really don't think all this was necessaAKHH…"

The forearm pressed harder in to his throat.

Batman fought to break free, filled with sudden rage, the effort in vain.

"You talk incessantly…" The man hissed.

"Heeehee…" The clown managed, even as the breath was whisked from his lungs. "It's a useful form of dis… distraction."

And suddenly his hand shot forward, sinking a blade in to the arm against him.

The man's face twitch, registering what felt to him like nothing more then a pinprick.

His eyes slid down, seeing the Joker's hand, still gripping the handle of the knife.

He snarled.

"Pathetic little…!"

His hand came up, curling mercilessly about the madman's own, engulfing it, crushing it in.

The Joker chocked out with the pain, and he felt his whole arm being jerked up, his hand still trapped within the other man's, still gripping the knife.

And then it was being slammed back against the wall, once, then twice, then a third time, until his grip on the blades handle loosened, and the weapon went clattering to the ground.

"You fool! Did you really think so primitive a weapon would have _any_ affect against me?"

Again the clown tried shifting up.

"Not really…" He breathed, barely audible. "But ya know… there's something… fff… something I think I should tell you… something that's been bugging me…"

"And what's that?"

"Your organizations, uh, name… title… whatever you want to call it… it really doesn't make much… sense. Makes me think you… you don't understand the meaning of c… chaos. Ya see, you can't control… ergh… you can't control chaos."

The man smirked.

"What do you mean? I'm controlling it as we speak."

The Joker shook his head.

"No. See? You really just don't… don't get it…"

"Get _what_? You sniveling weakling! I _command_ you to speak clearly!"

And he pushed harder still.

"And it's the… the look of shock on your face which I… I look forward to most… when that realization finally dawns… how greatly you failed to understand… "

The man's eyes narrowed.

"You speak nonsense!" He spit.

The madman smiled.

"More words of wisdom, I like to think…"

The man's teeth beard in anger, pulling his arm away and snatching the Joker by the neck, his fingers pressing hard against the already bruised and delicate flesh.

He squeezed.

"By this nights end, I promise, you will commit my every bidding. I will have you on your _knees_, _begging_ for my mercy!"

The Joker said nothing, his eyes trained as beams on those before him, the smile never leaving his face, even as he felt the hand on his throat begin to tighten.

Silence fell between them, the man staring back with equal intent. And each of their expressions was perfectly opposed, one twisted in rage, the other burdenless and free.

And as the moments passed, the quiet seemed to grow, and in it, the noise of a soft beeping could at last be heard.

The Joker's grin spread as the man's eyes slowly widened, then fell, his grip at once loosening as they took in the sight; a digital clock, peeking through the torn open shirt, strapped to the clown's stomach, the red, glowing numbers counting lower.

"_You_…!" He hissed, his gaze moving back up.

And then there it was.

There on his face.

The fear.

The madman leered.

"_Now_ do you understand?" He asked.

Batman felt himself go numb, his eyes expanding.

He lurched forward, pushing with all his strength against the hands which held him.

"No!" He cried.

The Joker turned, looking to him.

And in that instant, his smile had changed.

Batman could see it.

A smile not of glee, or of malice or of cruelty. Not the one he'd become so very familiar with. But one of comfort, of consolation. Like he was telling the crusader it was all okay.

It was all going to be okay.

His brow furrowed in desperate despair.

"Joker, NO!"

But it was too late.

It was far too late.

There was an explosion of white, so bright Batman's eyes closed against it, followed fast by a colossal boom, filling his ears.

Then the shock wave.

He felt himself lifted up, in to the air, tossed back like he was something which didn't matter.

… And then there was nothing…

**/**

He'd found him in the park, just sitting there, on a bench, at one of the stone tables adorning the sprawling landscape.

Usually the tables were used by people engaged with one another in a game of chess.

And that's exactly what The Joker was doing.

Playing chess.

With himself, apparently.

Batman approached slowly, cautiously.

Ten yards from him and the madman still hadn't looked up from the board.

And then he stood, moving around to the other side, studying the opposing pieces.

He _must_ have known he was there.

If he did, he didn't care.

Of course, it struck the vigilante as odd that he'd so easily located him to begin with.

He'd made no effort to hide. He'd been spotted on the street, strolling down Fifth Avenue, scaring the hell out of everyone unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But he hadn't _hurt_ anyone, which in itself seemed unusual. At first.

But then Batman remembered that trying to attribute any sort of _usual _behavior to The Joker was an entirely useless endeavor.

Those questioned by police said the lunatic had merely walked by them, casually. They said he appeared relaxed, and made no gestures towards them, no acknowledgement.

And, of course, no one had tried engaging _him_.

Most people, in fact, had screamed, and then run _away_ from him, either in the opposite direction from which he came, or across the street. And they said he didn't seem to take notice or care about _that _either. Just that he was walking… and whistling. They said he was whistling. And twirling a cane in his right hand, like a baton.

And then they'd seen him enter the park.

And then Gordon had called Batman from the roof, and told him everything.

So here he was, standing not ten yards from the madman, watching him play chess.

"Joker!" He said, his voice the usual growl he put on when he went out as he was.

The one he used to scare people.

It didn't work on the man in front of him.

"Just a moment…" The Joker said, never taking his eyes from the board.

So he _did _know he was there.

Batman wasn't sure why that surprised him.

It shouldn't have.

He stepped closer.

"They're missing you at Arkham." He heard himself say, as if it would make a difference.

The Joker said nothing to that. And then he reached out, moving a rook, then moving again to the other side. As he did he looked at Batman, and smiled.

"Care to join me?" He said, holding his hand out to the empty bench.

The vigilante again stepped forward.

"Did you hear me?" He asked.

The Joker only looked at him, still grinning, before turning away, sitting, seemingly completely unconcerned.

"It's boring playing myself." He began. "I can never win." And then he looked back up.

His eyes seemed to shine brightly in the park's darkness.

"Want to play?"

Batman's hands clenched to fists and once more he stepped forward.

"You're going back." He said.

The lunatic brought his gaze to the board again.

"I'll go back." He said, his voice soft. "But you have to play with me."

He sounded like a child.

Batman frowned.

"You want me to play you a game of chess?"

The Joker only nodded.

"And you'll go back?"

Again he nodded.

"You expect me to believe that?"

The Joker shrugged.

"You don't have to." He said. "But what could a game hurt?"

The detective looked incredulous, shaking his head.

"You'll go back if I play?" He repeated.

"That's the idea." The Joker said, smiling.

"No tricks?"

"No tricks."

Batman didn't believe him. Not for a moment.

But what _could_ a game hurt? If there was any chance of getting the lunatic back in his cell, without a struggle, just by playing, well, it couldn't hurt much at all.

What's more, he reasoned, he would embarrass The Joker. The madman may have been champion within the asylum walls, but Bruce was rated a Grand Master.

This would be easy, and quick.

So he said alright, and took a seat opposite his enemy.

/

The Joker won.

He won easily.

He made Bruce look like an amateur, in fact.

And then he'd laughed, and told the vigilante not to feel bad, that it was a silly game and made no real reflection on his intelligence, or lack thereof.

But still, Batman had been angry, and embarrassed, and so he'd reached across the table and grabbed hold of The Joker's lapels, pulling him forward and taking up a fistful of his hair, smashing him face first against the stone table, knocking him cold.

And then he'd taken him back to Arkham, his hands bound behind by a plastic zip, dumping him unceremoniously on to the front steps of the looming structure.

And then he left.

/

The next night, The Joker escaped.

And Batman again found him in the park, at the same table, with the same chess board.

Only this time he wasn't playing himself. He was just sitting there. And when he saw the crusader, he waved at him, smiling wide, than gestured him over.

He moved forward.

"That was mean of you." The Joker said, pointing to his face.

There was a grotesque black and blue bruise forming along the top of his right brow and over his eye.

On anyone else, in the dark it would have been hard to see, but against the madman's white skin, it stood out starkly.

Batman said nothing.

"Rematch?" The Joker asked.

The vigilante stared.

He still was incensed from the night before, and had convinced himself during the day that The Joker had somehow cheated. Though how one cheats at chess, he couldn't figure out.

"You'll go back to Arkham if I do?"

The Joker grinned wide.

"I would have gone back last night." He said. "If anyone happened to catch sight of your reaction, they might have labeled you a sore loser."

"Will you go back?" Batman asked again, more firmly.

The Joker shrugged.

"That depends. Maybe it was a simple issue of you lacking proper motivation to win. How about this? You win tonight, and I go back, no questions asked. But if _I _win again, well, then I won't make it so easy. What do you say?"

Batman huffed.

He could _beat _the madman. He _knew_ he could. He just… wasn't concentrating last night.

"Alright." He said, taking a seat.

/

The Joker won, again.

More quickly than the night before.

Bruce thought he might explode with anger.

And then he heard the lunatic giggle, and he looked up at him.

"You're trying too hard dear." He said.

"What!" The detective seethed.

"You're trying too hard." The Joker repeated. "You care too much. You care too much about winning. It's just a silly game, like I said. You shouldn't care."

Batman just stared at him, speechless.

He couldn't think of a reply.

And then The Joker leaned forward, across the distance separating them, pressing his lips against the crusaders, kissing him before falling backwards, jumping from the bench.

He laughed loudly.

"Until next we meet, my sweet!" He crowed, spinning fast on his heel and taking off, in to the trees.

Bruce could only watch, wide eyed, his mouth hung open in shock as the madman's laughter rung in his ears, fading off, in to the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

He sat there, stunned, for what he was sure was a good five minutes, before finally regaining his composure and standing stiffly.

The Joker by then was long gone, and there was no use in pursuing after him.

But Bruce was worried.

The Joker would phase in and out of personalities as often as the waves of the sea would shift.

So right now he'd obviously fallen in to one of his more playful personas, not really harmful, just tricky and obnoxious.

But who could say when or how that would change. He could easily slip back to being a homicidal maniac, and the vigilante might turn on the news to hear a report of dozens dead at the hands of the madman. It could happen any time. It could happen tonight even.

Batman, in fact, was sure he'd seen the Joker change mid-encounter. He remembered one time, while battling the clown, the lunatic had, for weeks, been on an especially blood-thirsty tangent, killing left and right. When he was like that, he was hard to deal with. More difficult then usual, in any event. When he was like that, Bruce felt as though the lunatic were trying, _truly_ trying, to kill him. And this particular time, he nearly had. He's backed Batman in to a corner, injured and reeling from having inhaled a gaseous form of the madman's toxin.

Reflecting on the time, the crusader was loath to admit, had The Joker _not _suddenly changed, he might not now be alive.

But the lunatic had.

As he'd had a knife raised, standing only feet from Batman, the look in The Joker's eyes had suddenly shifted, growing at once less cruel, less hateful, and where he'd worn a scowl before, he then smiled, wide, and stepped back.

And then he'd laughed, dropping the blade to the floor, saying something about having to run, about remembering something he'd forgotten, before leaving, not saying another word.

Batman was positive he'd seen the change he'd heard about from the doctors at Arkham, seen it happen right before his eyes, like some bizarre wave washing over the madman.

Of course, it could also have just been the fact of The Joker's incredible unpredictability. His moods would often change on a whim, with no real or discernable cause to be noted, and the same could be said of his actions. He would often abandon one thing for another, mid-way through even.

But it had been the look in his eyes which told the detective that something inside the Joker had shifted, like a switch going off.

And sure enough, in the weeks following, the psychopath had stopped killing altogether; instead going about town, vandalizing various pieces of property, spray painting half-cocked rhyme schemes across buildings and signs.

Bruce had caught him one night, in the middle of the act, and taken him out easily. The Joker, in fact, hadn't put up any sort of resistance, had just stood there as Batman came upon him, laying a right hook against his jaw, knocking him cold.

And it seemed now the situation was much the same.

But who was to say how long it would last?

And that was the problem.

Batman pushed himself from the bench, turning to stride across the grass.

He still couldn't believe he'd let the lunatic escape like that! It was ridiculous! All because he'd let his anger at having lost some silly game get to him!

And then he paused, recalling The Joker's own words, calling it a 'silly game'.

/

He'd talked to Alfred about what happened, sure to leave out, however, the part where the madman had kissed him. He explained to the older man how he was sure the Joker had once again shifted to a more or less harmless personality, but couldn't be certain for how long it would last and so it was imperative he found him before he again changed.

Alfred theorized that, as always, the Joker was doubtless playing some sort of mind game and, as always, would actually seek out the crusaders attention and presence. He suggested then that Bruce return to the park, stating he had an inkling the lunatic would return there as well.

Bruce himself had thought the same, and so, the following night, he again found himself at the park.

Only now it was empty, devoid of another soul.

Batman checked the time. It was late. But then, that shouldn't have made a difference. If anything, it would have bettered the chance of the Joker being there. Most of all his exploits took place when the night was at its darkest, much like the vigilante's own.

If he wasn't here, it was unlikely he would show at all.

Bruce huffed in agitation and a feeling of disappointment. Though it wasn't disappointment at having been wrong. He couldn't really place what it was, only that he felt, suddenly… alone. And stupid. Why in the hell was he standing around in a park _waiting_ for the Joker when he should be out there, fighting crime! The image of him having been stood up on a date entered his mind and he shook his head angrily. What a ridiculous notion! This was totally out of hand!

He turned then to leave, taking one stride forward, the wet grass slicked beneath his boot, sticking to it.

And then there was the sound of branches snapping and leaves rustling, and Batman stopped dead in his tracks, spinning round.

He peered with narrowed eyes in to the darkened trees.

"Come out!" He said, his voice clipped.

Moments later and the tall, rail thin figure he'd become so accustomed to stepped out, in to sight. In the dark, Bruce could make out the gleam of his teeth. Smiling, as always.

He was dressed smart, wearing an elaborately patterned, blue and green button down shirt, tucked in at the waste, purple bow tie and pinstripe slacks, with colorful suspenders to hold them up. As usual, he sported polished, black leather dress shoes, clean white spats worn over. And his hair was slicked back, but not with gel. It looked like just water, some strands still hanging loosely over his face. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, exposing his skinny, stark white arms, and Bruce noted almost immediately they were covered in sever cuts and scratches.

"What the hell happened to you?" He heard himself ask, than inwardly cursed at the show of concern. If there was anything the lunatic would take to mean something it didn't, it was that.

The Joker looked confused for a moment, just staring back at him without reaction.

"Your arms." Batman nodded towards them.

The Joker's expression changed in to one of knowing and he glanced down at his wounds before quickly bringing his gaze back to the vigilante.

He shrugged.

"Got in to a fight." He said nonchalantly.

Batman's face turned to one of surprise.

"A fight?" He asked, sounding incredulous.

Again The Joker shrugged.

"Oh, don't act so surprised. You know I tend to hang about the more… _unsavory_ parts of town."

"What happened?" Bruce asked, despite telling himself he shouldn't.

The madman waved a dismissive hand, glancing to the side, then back to Batman.

"I was on my way home when…"

"_Home_?"

The Joker placed his hands on his hips.

"_Don't_ interrupt!" He said in mock annoyance.

Bruce just stared back.

The Joker cleared his throat, resuming.

"I was on my way home when a group of muggers tried to jump me."

The crusader looked even more disbelieving then before.

"Are you being serious?" He asked.

The Joker smiled.

"Have I ever not been?"

Batman frowned.

"Okay, okay. But in all honesty, I'm telling the truth."

"You're telling me a group of muggers tried to, what, _rob_ you?"

"I assume that was their intention, yes. Listen, it happens more often then you'd think."

Batman released a breath he'd sucked in. He didn't even want to _know_ what had happened from there.

"Anywho, there were five of them, and one of me. What's a girl to do?" The Joker laughed sharply.

The vigilante rolled his eyes.

"Be serious." He said.

"Alright. Well, they came at me from the side, an alleyway or some such."

"Did you kill them?" Batman asked pointedly.

Again the madman placed his hands on his hips.

"I _told_ you Bat-babe, _don't_ interrupt! If you're going to ask what happened, you should refrain from disallowing me to finish!"

Bruce shook his head.

This was ridiculous! Why was he having _another _conversation with this lunatic! He should be beating the snot out of him right now and dragging him back to Arkham.

Despite his thoughts, he only stood in silence as the Joker continued.

"As I was saying, they came at me from the side and…" He began to chuckle, bringing his hand to his mouth. "Well, it's really quite amusing. They all stood in a circle around me, sporting switchblades, and very _boldly_ they demanded my money."

"Didn't they know who you are?" Batman asked.

The Joker shrugged.

"If they did, it didn't seem to deter them from their task."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Oh darling, you flatter me!" The Joker placed his palm flat against his chest, grinning.

"That wasn't a compliment!"

"Pish posh!" The lunatic waved a hand. "So, anyway, I plainly told them I had no cash on me. They didn't believe me. You know how it is."

"Well, did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Have cash?"

"No, no… Why would I?"

Bruce looked at him with disbelief before, again, shaking his head.

"Never mind." He muttered.

"Well, I insisted to them I was most sincere, but apparently, they weren't the kind to listen. And so they attacked me."

"They attacked you!"

"Did I misspeak?"

"Well what did you do!"

The Joker laughed, as though the question were completely absurd.

"Well what else!" He said. "I attacked them back!"

"And!"

The madman looked at him quizzically.

"And what?"

"Did you _kill_ them!" Batman huffed, losing his patience.

The Joker shrugged.

"I don't think so."

"You don't _think _so?" Bruce couldn't believe he was having this conversation.

"Well, they put up a good fight, let me tell you! Being the big, strong, _young_ men they were. Tore me up pretty good, as you most duly noted. But I think I just frightened the dears, really."

"How can you not know if you killed them?"

"Oh, I know for certain four of them I only injured. They wanted to play knives, so I took out my own and we had a splendid time!"

"What about the fifth?"

"Weellll, him I might have killed." The Joker assumed the expression of a child who'd been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

"God damn it Joker!" Batman spit. "Did you kill him or not!"

"I don't know!" The Joker nearly shouted back. "That's what I'm trying to tell you! He was more aggressive then the others! All that was required to send _them_ running was a simple flesh wound. But this lug wasn't so easily persuaded. I had to cut him a little deeper."

"_Where_?"

"Well, I gouged him on his right side, I think it was, just below the rib cage. He went scampering off after that."

Batman brought his clenched fists to his head, pressing them against his temples.

"Gahhhhh!" He growled.

The Joker looked at him with concern.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his tone genuine.

"You _maniac_!" The detective hissed. "You might have _killed_ him!"

The madman looked confused.

"Purely though, it was self-defense dear." He said. "Aren't you pleased? I could have killed them all quite easily."

Bruce huffed in anger, throwing his hands down.

"Dahh! Never mind! You're going back to Arkham, _now_!" He said.

The Joker only smiled.

"No." He shook his head. "You don't want to take me back to Arkham."

"Like hell I don't!"

Again the lunatic shook his head.

"You came again. You don't want to take me back."

"I came because I thought I might find you here!"

The Joker giggled.

"It's not as though you looked very hard though, is it? You hoped I'd be sitting at that bench again." He waved a hand towards the table from the previous two nights. "When you didn't see me, you felt stood up and were ready to leave, all in a rage. Really, it was so cute!"

Batman just stared at him, his jaw hung slightly ajar.

"I was sat up in those trees." The Joker gestured upwards. "I mean, you waited around for, what was it, a good 15 minutes, just standing there. If you'd really been looking to apprehend me, you'd have searched the entirety of the area. But you just stood there, looking all alone."

"This is absurd!" Batman fumed, turning away.

"Oh, come on! You can admit it. There's nothing to be ashamed of! You like spending time with me!"

"I _despise_ you!" Batman raged. "Everything about you makes me sick!"

The Joker stared back at him in silence for a moment, finally shrugging.

"It's alright. They tell you to feel wrong about it, so you feel wrong about it. But deep down, you know the truth. If you really wanted nothing more then to take me in, you've had ample time already to beat me down and truss me up. I mean, physically, I'm not much of a challenge, right? You could run me down, easy enough. And once you've got your hands on me, well then, it's only a matter of time, isn't it? Before you beat me senseless and drag me bound, back to the _insane_ asylum." He laughed loudly. "But instead, you've been standing _here_ the last ten minutes, showing great concern for that of my well being."

Bruce just glared at him, saying nothing.

"Come on Batsy, let's have a heart to heart! Look, I even brought snakes!"

He turned suddenly, bending over at the waste, reaching in to the thicket of the brush. When he turned back around, he was holding a picnic basket, and wearing a huge grin on his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

Bruce only stared at him, his eyes slightly wide with disbelief.

"Well?" The Joker broke the silence. "What do you say?" He held the basket up higher.

Finally the crusader shifted.

"You can't be serious." He said.

At this The Joker's brows shot up.

"And why not? Look, I've brought some wonderful things." He opened one end of the basket and began to rummage through it, taking out and holding up its various contents. "See? Sandwiches. Potato salad. Liquorish. Soda pop. Candy bars. Those little Hostess apple pies."

Batman's face turned severely to a frown.

"Honey. Chicken tenders. Potato chi…"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Bruce cut him off.

The Joker stopped, looking up.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The madman looked confused.

"What do you mean what am I doing? I'm showing you what I brought."

"You actually expect me to sit down with you and _eat_?"

The Joker stared at him.

"Well why not?" He asked.

The vigilante shook his head. The lunatic really didn't get what was wrong with this picture.

"First of all…" Bruce began. "Where the hell did you get all of that food?"

"Now Batman, don't be _intentionally _obtuse." The Joker answered. "Where else would you get it but a grocery store?"

"You didn't walk in to a store and _buy_ all of that!" Batman sounded completely incredulous.

"You didn't walk in to a store and _buy _all of that!" The Joker suddenly did a near-perfect imitation of Bruce's voice.

The vigilante straightened, taken aback.

The Joker smirked.

"You forget Batsy. I'm a master of disguise. And I have money. See?" He reached in to his pant pocket, pulling out a thick wad of cash and throwing it to the ground.

Batman glared at it for a moment before bringing his eyes back to the madman.

"Oh, and in case you're wondering, no, I didn't have that last night. Picked it up this morning, along with the food."

"You're telling me you disguised yourself, walked in to a store and actually _paid_ for all that?"

The Joker huffed angrily, losing his patience.

"Look, _dearest_, you can believe me or not. The _point_ is, I've brought us something to eat."

Bruce scoffed loudly then.

"You're crazy."

The Joker smiled.

"So I've been told. But really dear, I'm not."

The detective eyed him with annoyance.

"I'm _not _eating with you!" He said. "The very idea is completely absurd."

"Ah, ah! No more absurd then you challenging me to a game of chess." The madman countered.

Batman said nothing.

The Joker rolled his eyes.

"Well you can stand there all night if it pleases you to do so, but I'm famished. Haven't eaten a thing in days. You can join me if you like."

The crusader watched as The Joker promptly sat, cross legged on the wet grass, before beginning to remove the contents of the basket, proceeding then to neatly arrange them about himself and humming quietly some indiscernible tune.

It was bizarre to see.

The lunatic was wholly unconcerned by the fact that his mortal enemy was standing not 10 feet from him, who could at any moment attack with an unequaled fury. He seemed fully consumed by the task of creating a presentable picnic display. This was the same man Batman had seen brutally slaughter countless innocents, and subject countless more to the worst tortures imaginable.

But right now… right now he looked as nothing more then a child. He seemed small and fragile, and somehow… almost cute.

Bruce shook his head.

He should just smack the madman down right now and drag him back to his prison cell. He was a psychopathic mass-murderer, for Christ's sake!

Batman could feel his hands clenching in to fists as he thought more of it. Of all the horrible things The Joker had done. And suddenly he could envision himself thrashing the lunatic until he was reduced to a bloody pulp on the ground.

And then The Joker looked up at him, and smiled, and all feelings of violence faded. Somehow, the thought of hurting the madman seemed suddenly wrong.

"Here." The Joker held up a sandwich.

Bruce momentarily hesitated, subconsciously glancing about, wanting to make certain there was no one else around.

"Don't worry about them." He heard The Joker say.

"Them?" He asked, looking around more intently. Was there someone there he didn't see?

"Anyone." The Joker answered. "Don't worry if anyone's there. They don't matter."

"_Is_ someone there?" The crusader asked, still glancing around the park.

The Joker rolled his eyes.

"Not that _I_ know of." He said.

Still Bruce hesitated.

"Here." The Joker again held the sandwich out to him. "Take it. And sit down."

Finally the detective turned to him, moving slowly forward.

He was hungry. Though he'd never admit that.

"How do I know you didn't poison it?" He asked.

Again The Joker rolled his eyes.

"Look." He said, taking a bite of it himself.

Batman watched him for some seconds before at last holding his hand out.

The Joker handed it to him.

"Now sit." He insisted once more.

Bruce could see the grass was wet. It wouldn't affect him through his suit. But he knew The Joker's pants must be soaked. But it was apparent he didn't care.

Finally he sat, staring at the sandwich in his hand for several seconds before at last taking a bite.

The Joker watched him carefully.

"You worry too much." He said.

The vigilante looked up at him.

"You shouldn't worry at all."

"What are you talking about?" Batman asked defensively.

"You're worried someone might see us, as though it actually matters. You were worried that sandwich might kill you. I'd never do you like that Batsy. You should know that."

Bruce nearly laughed.

"Really!" He asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

But The Joker didn't smile, only stared at the vigilante, his expression as serious as Batman had ever seen.

"Yes." He said finally. And there was no hint of a joke there.

And then he looked away, down to the food he'd arranged, absentmindedly beginning to shift it around.

Batman studied him for a moment. It was rare he ever, really got the chance. Their interactions so usually entailed bouts of violence. Rapid bursts of hectic dialog and movement. Seeing the madman sat across from him, less then two feet away, quietly sorting through _groceries_ which supposedly he'd _purchased_,was nothing short of surreal.

Even more out of place was the fact he _himself _was sitting here, _with_ The Joker, feeling no desire to savagely beat him, as he usually did.

The only light to illuminate the area came from the moon. But even still, The Joker's pure, white skin stood out visibly in the dark, and Bruce caught himself thinking what a huge disadvantage that was.

He made certain _always_ to shroud himself in dark clothing, to lessen as much as possible the chance of being seen. He relied heavily on the element of surprise to ensure success.

But The Joker was so totally the opposite of all that. Beyond the fact of his skin tone, which there was nothing he could do about, he purposefully wore the brightest colored cloths. And, in all the times he'd encountered the clown, he'd never once seemed concerned with getting the drop on Batman. Or on anyone, for that matter. Usually, when he was around, he made it known, loud and clear. He was flamboyant, and loved to perform.

It was for those reasons he so often found himself on the losing end of their fights. Other then the fact, of course, that unlike Batman, he just _wasn't_ a trained fighter. Not that he _couldn't_ fight. He could. He could be incredibly nasty and dirty, and he was tricky as hell. And despite the thinness of his frame, he wasn't some physical push over either. He was tall and lanky and deceptively strong. The difference was, Bruce had conditioned himself, over a period of several years, to be a fighting machine, to optimize his speed and strength. The Joker had not.

The thing about The Joker was, he just didn't seem to care. He knew, in a fist fight, he'd never have a chance against the crusader. And yet, continually, he engaged him in just that way. And when he lost, as he inevitably always did, he'd only laugh. Sometimes, oftentimes, he'd take a sever beating, and still he laughed. He didn't care, at all.

And then Batman thought back to their game of chess, and how easily the madman had beaten him. Twice. And how, even then, he hadn't seemed to care, while Bruce himself evidently cared enough to become angry at having lost.

Everything seemed so unimportant to The Joker. And as a result, it really was as though _nothing_ affected him.

The vigilante had learned long ago that there simply was no use in trying to frighten the lunatic. He was well beyond that.

And even when what crazed planes he'd made went wrong, he appeared unbothered, even by that. Not that he never grew angry. He did, and often. But whenever it happened, the emotion would dissipate as quickly as it had come, and he would act as though nothing had ever gone amiss.

Nothing mattered to the madman. Not really. Not money. Not power. Not freedom. Not even his own well being.

And so Bruce had never found a way to really _beat_ him.

Watching him now though, he appeared suddenly bothered, still keeping his eyes fixed away.

Batman inhaled deeply, releasing the breath slowly through his nose. He felt awkward, just sitting here, looking at The Joker.

"What kind of meal is this?" He finally asked, not knowing what else to say. "Do you actually _eat_ like this?"

The Joker looked up at him then.

"I eat what I like." He answered.

Another example of the contrast between them. Bruce ate only what he was sure would optimize his physical performance. From the looks of the food here, The Joker didn't care at all what he put in his body, and certainly wasn't concerned with how it might affect his state. The detective found himself wondering how it was the lunatic retained such an intense level of energy. With this kind of sugar intake, it was only logical to assume he would crash at some point. But Batman had yet to see _that _ever happen.

"You're going to develop diabetes if you keep eating this way." He said.

"Diabetes?" The Joker asked.

"Don't tell me you don't know what that is?"

"Of course I know!" The Joker answered. "Don't be absurd."

"Well, you're going to get it if you keep eating like this." Batman pressed.

The Joker shrugged, looking down.

"Maybe." He said.

"Well don't you care!"

"Care? No."

"Well why not!" Bruce was growing annoyed with the lunatic's apathy.

"Because there's no point." The Joker answered confidently. "I want to enjoy myself. And so I will."

"But if you develop diabetes, you won't be able to eat all these things anymore." Bruce argued.

"Says who?"

"Says scientific study!"

The Joker laughed suddenly.

"Oh, you mean, I could die if I develop the condition and continue as I am."

"Yes!"

Again the madman laughed.

"I'd still eat what I want." He said.

Bruce stared at him wide eyed before shaking his head.

"Like I said…" The Joker began, grabbing a jar of honey. "You worry too much."

The vigilante watched as the lunatic unscrewed the jar's lid, proceeding to dunk his fingers in to the sticky substance, before then lathering it on to a piece of bread and stuffing practically the whole thing in to his mouth.

He smiled at Batman as he chewed.

This all seemed so unreal.

"What do you want?" Bruce finally asked.

"Want?" The madman repeated, his mouth still full.

"Why do you keep dragging me here?"

The Joker stared at him for a moment, than shrugged, swallowing hard.

"No one dragged you anywhere Bat-babe. You came of you own volition, remember?"

"But you were waiting here." Bruce said. "You expected me."

"Well of course." The Joker answered. "You always come."

"Well you must have some sort of plan! You must be playing some game!" Bruce's voice grew impatient.

"No." The Joker said, his tone matter of fact. And then he dunked his fingers again in to the honey, spreading it on to another piece of bread before, once more, eating it whole.

Batman glared at him, saying nothing.

Finally The Joker looked up.

"Aren't you going to eat?" He asked.

The detective glanced down at the sandwich he held.

It looked like a regular turkey and cheese. Tasted like it too. Bruce felt his stomach rumble. He really _was_ hungry.

Well, he'd already taken a bite, and he hadn't died yet, so what the hell.

He brought it to his lips, slowly taking a bite.

The Joker smiled wide.

"See? Not so bad, is it?"

Bruce said nothing.

"These are great." The madman said, tossing one of the apple pies his way.

It landed right in front of Batman, and he stared at it for a good five seconds.

"I'm not eating that." He said.

"Why not?" The Joker questioned, sounding confused.

"It'll make me crash."

"Crash?"

"It'd give me a boost of energy for a short while, but then I'd just go flat!" Bruce answered hotly.

"Hmm." The Joker said. "That's funny. I eat those things all the time and that never happens to me."

Bruce huffed angrily.

"I don't get you." He said. "Don't you _care_! About anything!"

"Sure." The madman said.

"Well _what_!"

"You." The Joker answered. "I care about you."

Batman nearly laughed.

"You can't be serious."

"Of course I am." The lunatic said, his tone devoid of its usual merriment.

"Really?" Bruce said. "Then why are you always trying to _kill_ me?"

The Joker laughed suddenly.

"Darling, I'm not trying at _all_." He smiled. "I'd be lost without you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! So, things change up a bit in this chapter from where it originally was. Next chapter it begins to change a **_**lot**_**. So just a heads up that you won't be reading the same chapters verbatim for very long. Anyway, here we go:**

**Chapter 4:**

They sat in silence for several moments, The Joker again going back to eating, this time breaking open a bottle of Coke, gulping half it's contents down in one swig.

Bruce studied him, trying to work out in his mind whether or not the lunatic was sincere.

He decided he couldn't be, not with all the heartless, inhumane acts he'd seen him perform. It was impossible for him to believe the madman was capable of any emotion even remotely human.

He shook his head.

"No." He said. "You don't care about me. You don't care about anyone."

At this The Joker stopped, staring hard at the crusader. His expression was serious and he looked suddenly displeased.

"That's not true." He said. "I care about you. I love you even." And then, suddenly, he grinned.

"If you really did, then why do you hurt me? Why do you do things you _know_ I'm against? That isn't indicative at all of someone _loving_ another."

"I do it to make you mad." The Joker giggled. "You're so cute when you're mad, after all."

Abruptly Batman threw his sandwich to the ground and lurched forward, grabbing hold of the madman's suspender straps and jerking him forward, causing him to drop his soda.

"_Stop_ playing _games_ with me!" He growled.

The Joker frowned, grabbing the vigilante by the wrists.

"I'm _not_." He hissed. "Besides, _I'm_ not the one living in a constant state of denial."

Bruce raised his hand then, backhanding The Joker across the face and letting him fall backward, to the ground.

For a moment the madman lay on his back in a heap, before finally pushing himself to a sitting position, holding the back of his hand against his mouth. Pulling it away, he saw blood, his lip having split.

His eyes darted to Batman, and in them was fury.

"That's right dear." He began. "Kick me around and tell yourself its proof enough that _you_ don't care."

Bruce seethed, standing fully and rushing the lunatic.

Quick as lightening he took The Joker up by the collar of his shirt, lifting him fully off the ground and pushing forward until his back slammed hard against a thick Oak. The Joker held tight to his wrists as Batman leaned heavy in to him, pressing his elbow and forearm painfully against his chest.

"I'll _kill_ you!" The detective raged.

"Oh, yeah? And that would be, what, the hundredth time you've threatened it?" The Joker laughed. "Come on Batsy! When are you _ever_ going to admit it? You need me as much as I need you."

The vigilante's teeth ground together in rage as he pulled the lunatic off before again slamming him back.

The Joker felt the air go from his lungs and he laughed, the sound coming out a high pitched wheeze.

"Oh, wow. Just how I always _imagined _our first date!"

Again Batman pulled him forward and slammed him back, releasing a growl of fury.

And again The Joker only laughed, hanging limp from the vigilante's hands, appearing as a rag doll.

Some seconds past, the madman's laughter slowly dying away as he realized Batman hadn't again crushed him against the trunk. Silence grew around them in the moments following, each man staring hard at the other, Bruce with his gauntleted hands buried deep in to the fabric of The Joker's patterned shirt, The Joker himself holding tight to the detective's wrists, gazing intently in to his eyes.

And still more silence past.

"Sooo…" The Joker began at last, when it seemed the situation was stagnant.

Suddenly Batman leaned in, lying hard against the madman's chest, pushing him more firmly against the tree so that he couldn't move, and then, without warning, he just let him drop, turning away in obvious frustration, his cape whipping around his body like some living creature.

The Joker stared up at him, blinking.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, pushing himself to a sitting position.

"You never learn, do you?" He began. "I tell you something you don't like, you act all indignant, and then there's that inevitable anger. But it's your reaction afterward which is the real kicker, hmm? The unadulterated, _unhidden_ self-loathing. You hate yourself in that moment. And it's because I've done nothing but tell you the truth, a truth you _know_ but you find yourself with the particular weakness of being unable to accept it."

Bruce shook his head, his broad shoulders rigid, unmoving.

"No." He said in a sharp rasp. "No. You lie. Everything you say is a _lie_!"

"No Bruce. No. You're only lying to yourself."

The vigilante turned quickly towards him, his eyes wide.

The clown stared back.

And suddenly a smile began to spread over his lips. His usual expression; that cocky smirk, always taunting, making you feel as though he knew something you never would, or even _could_. The one which always made you feel as though the lunatic were ten steps ahead and you would _never _catch up.

Batman felt fire race through his veins, his skin growing hot with rage, and he lunged forward, a scream like some rabid animals escaping his throat as, with vicious speed, he took hold with both hands The Joker's collar, lifting him from the ground, an instant later slamming him on to his back, so hard the air went instantly from the lunatic's lungs.

The Joker felt the laughter bubbling up in his throat, ready to erupt.

But it never got the chance as Batman sunk his fist hard in to his face, and without a moment's hesitation, did it again, never allowing the madman to express the apparent glee he always felt in falling victim to the detective's lethal hands.

It was a mix of panic and confusion which now gripped him, drove his fists down so viciously, and a sudden, overwhelming desire to keep the sound of The Joker's hilarity from escaping.

He couldn't deal with it. Not now.

And so he beat him without mercy, without respite.

When he no longer could get the desired leverage from his punches, he lifted The Joker by his hair, and continued to connect the balled up rubber of his gauntlet with his already bloodied face, over and over, barely a moment lasting between each blow.

Only when the madman had ceased movement of any kind did Batman realize he'd fallen unconscious. And then he realized what he'd done, and he let go his curled hand from The Joker's now tangled, blood splattered hair, letting him fall to the still wet grass, his long limbs splayed out, his body a limp and broken heap.

The crusader stared at him for a long, few moments, as though what he was seeing couldn't be real, as though he were trying to discern an illusion.

And suddenly he felt nauseous, stumbling backward, away, his feet hitting the array of food from The Joker's picnic basket, causing him nearly to fall as abruptly he turned, and began to run. Run as fast as his legs would carry him. Run away from _him_.

/

The Joker awoke in pain. A _lot_ of pain. Slowly his eyes opened and at first it seemed as though the world around him spun in dizzying circles, as though he were on a merry-go- round, and he brought his hand up, resting it against his forehead to make it stop. After a while it did, and somehow he managed to roll to his side, and then on to his knees, groaning audibly as he did.

Pain ripped through him. Particularly his face, which he could tell already was badly swollen. And then he realized he couldn't breath through his nose, and quickly discerned it to be broken.

Standing erect, the spinning returned and he nearly fell face first from its intensity. It was making him sick.

He giggled.

"Wohooo!" He breathed, his hand reaching out for purchase against the same tree he'd earlier been slammed viciously against, his other hand pressing against his temple. "Silly merry-go-round. Stop."

He stood like that for a good, few minutes, waiting for the world to stand still. When it finally did, he moved from the tree, noting immediately the scattered remains of his picnic basket. He stumbled to it, taking up one of the unopened sodas and snapping open its top, chugging half its contents in one gulp. It burned down his throat, but he didn't care.

He tossed it away then and looked up, peering at the sky. It was light and he knew in just a short while the sun would come creeping over the horizon. He'd been out for a good 3 or 4 hours, he supposed. And he laughed again. He guessed he should get home now. Before someone called the cops on him.

Gazing around the still darkened park, he saw no sign of Batman and felt himself actually disappointed.

He couldn't actually recall what had happened. The last thing he remembered was Batsy punching him in the face, but it wasn't as though that were unusual.

Something had set him off though.

And then The Joker remembered.

He hadn't exactly _intended_ for that slip. It had just sort of… happened.

Batman sure had freaked though.

So, mission accomplished, the madman thought with a giggle.

At least, partially...

It frustrated him sometimes, the Bat's refusal to acknowledge… certain things. It was frustrating seeing the _pain_ he was in _for _that refusal.

He didn't want his darling in such a state. It was, after all, difficult enough, being as they were.

As _only _they were.

Alone together…

He sighed.

In any event, it would give the big galoot something to think about, maybe add a little spice to their next encounter.

He giggled, feeling the familiar sensation of all-consuming excitement wash over his body.

And then he began to laugh loudly.

He could only imagine the kind of turmoil Batman now found himself in. Surely, he must be pitching some kind of fit. And that meant it wouldn't be long at all before the vigilante came searching for him again.

How _perfect_ it was.

The Joker barely could contain his jubilation as he moved out of the park, beginning the long walk back to his place, up in the Northeast projects, practically skipping along, singing raucously.

When he at last reached it, his hand went for the knob, twisting it and swinging the door wide.

"Honey, I'm hooooome!" He called, laughing still as he entered the small, sparsely decorated apartment. The building was abandoned, and as far as he knew, and he _knew_, he was the only current resident.

He literally could walk across the space in five, regular strides, that's how small it was, with only two rooms. The main living area, which contained both a kitchenette and space for a mattress, and then off to the right, a bathroom, barely large enough to hold a single standing shower, toilet and sink.

He made his way there, flipping the light switch. It flickered on, struggling at first, but then filling the tiny room with harsh, bright light. There were no fixtures over the bulbs.

He moved to the mirror over the sink, which had a large crack running diagonally and straight through its center.

For the first time he saw his state.

There was dried blood covering his face, both from his nose and mouth, as well as split skin along his cheek bones. His hair had flecks of blood in it as well, as did his shirt. The entire area around his nose was swollen, as was his left eye. Nearly swollen shut, in fact. And his cloths looked completely ruined, covered in mud and grass stains. He frowned. He'd just gotten this outfit the other day and quite liked it, really. He shrugged. Oh well. Plenty more where that came from.

Turning on the faucet, he cupped cold water in to his hands, throwing it over his face, watching as the blood turned the clear liquid red, swirling down the drain.

Looking back in the mirror, he saw his nose was bleeding again. Definitely broken. He'd had several of those in his lifetime. He laughed, reaching down and pulling open a drawer below the sink, taking from it a medical kit.

He'd set it himself.

/

Bruce turned restlessly in his bed for what seemed the hundredth time. He couldn't sleep, at all. He'd been lying there awake for the past two hours, his mind filling with the horrible images of earlier that night.

He still couldn't believe it.

How long had the madman _known_? And why in the hell was he choosing to reveal it just now?

Thought's raced through his mind of what it could mean. About him, about The Joker, about everything he'd said.

He'd thought maybe it was some elaborate trick on the Joker's part. But _what _trick? He'd said his _name_ for Christ's sake! Causally he'd said it, like he was addressing an old friend. And there was no mistake. When he'd seen the look on the clown's face, it was obvious he knew who he was.

And he kept thinking of how he'd reacted afterwards. How badly he'd beaten The Joker up, without any real reason for it. Certainly, the madman was always a threat, but he'd been doing nothing even remotely threatening at the time. He'd just been sitting there, going on to him about his temper, about how every time someone forced him to face an unwanted reality, he would react violently. How he would explode because of a refusal to accept things as they were, because, maybe, deep down, he thought if he kicked the shit out of whatever was bothering him bad enough, it would just go away. And that was exactly what he'd done then, wasn't it? He'd only proven the Joker's point, and he was sure that, wherever the lunatic now was, he was having a good old laugh about it. That was assuming he hadn't beaten the poor son of a bitch to death.

But he'd been overrun by panic, by uncertainty, and that had quickly morphed in to rage, and the need to release it. And he had. He couldn't remember the last time he'd hit The Joker so hard, or so repeatedly. Like he'd been taking out the disgust he felt of himself on the lunatic. No, it wasn't _like_ that. It _was_ that. And that just made him hate himself more.

The Joker was a _liar_. He was lying when he said he cared about him. He was lying when he said he loved him. He was too _psychotic_ to love anyone. He couldn't even love _himself_ properly. Not with the way he constantly compromised his own well being.

Everything he said was said with the purpose of getting a rise out of him.

That was all.

Bruce felt his mouth twist in to a frown.

But then, why the hell did he feel so bad when he recalled the look of hurt on the madman's face, after he'd hit him the first time that night?

Finally he threw the covers from himself, unable to sleep.

He'd _had_ it!

The only logical solution he could conjure up, the only way he could make amends for his own stupidity, was to again find The Joker, question him about what he knew, find out his intentions, and then take him back to Arkham. And if the lunatic so much as looked like he might resist, Bruce had convinced himself he would lay him down. No more funny business. No more conversations, or games of chess, or freaking _picnics_!

He was through messing around.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Three days later, Bruce found the Joker.

He'd spotted the madman some ten blocks back, and had followed him here, to this abandoned apartment complex.

"So that's where you've been hiding." He whispered lowly to himself, his mouth twisting to a frown.

He waited until he saw the Joker enter through a door near the buildings back side before dropping down to street level. He was pretty sure the Joker hadn't seen him. He'd made sure to keep a fair amount of distance between them, once he'd spotted the clown.

He'd been strolling down a street, as casual and care-free as you'd like. Of course, it had been 3 in the morning, and so no one else was out. Bruce had heard him before he saw him. He'd been whistling, loudly, some merry sounding tune. And then Bruce had spotted him. Like always, he'd been twirling a damn cane like a baton in one hand, and carrying a brown paper package under his other arm, dressed to the nines, as usual.

Batman had felt disgust as he took in the ego of the madman, so proud of himself, his fine cloths reflecting his more then apparent high self-regard.

He found himself worrying over what the package the Joker held might contain, and as he followed him, he watched closely for any body language from the lunatic to indicate what it was.

But for the entire ten blocks he walked, he never once gave anything away, only continued to whistle and walk with that ridiculous air of confidence he always held.

Bruce snuck quietly around to the back, where he'd seen the Joker go in. Pressing himself up against the wall adjacent to the door, he reached out, grabbing hold of the handle, which felt loose in his grip, and pushed it open, as swiftly but quietly as he could. He braced himself for an attack, sucking air sharply.

But nothing came, and slowly, cautiously, he inched sideways until he could peek through the entryway.

He was met with nothing but open air, shrouded in darkness. The small amount of light pouring in from the moon overhead allowed him to make out a stairway just ahead and silently, he entered, moving upwards.

The landing led to another set of stairs, and above that was where the apartments began.

It wasn't hard to find which one the Joker had gone in to. All the doors had no light showing from under the crack except for one, one more floor up.

Batman stood outside it for a moment, just listening, trying to discern where in the apartment the madman was, and what he was doing.

But he could hear nothing.

He rolled his eyes up.

No point in putting it off.

He stepped back, quickly driving his foot forward and flat, in to the door, kicking it in, breaking it clean off its hinges, barreling in after it.

He stood defensive, his hands raised and in fists, ready to fight.

He scanned the room quickly with his eyes, left, and then, moving right, he saw him, standing there, behind an ironing board, steaming a pair of pants.

The Joker didn't bother looking up from what he was doing, continuing in his task.

"You could have just knocked." He said. "Wouldn't that have been easier?"

The vigilante glared at him in apparent disbelief.

Was he… was he really _ironing_?

He glanced around quickly, suspicious, anxiety rising up in his gut that some kind of trap had been laid.

But the room appeared normal, save for its decrepit condition and relative emptiness.

His eyes moved back to the Joker.

"You're not very subtle dear, despite what you may think." The madman continued to drag the iron back and forth.

Finally, he looked up.

"Well, don't just stand there." He said. "Make yourself comfortable." He tilted his head towards a raged looking cot in the small room's upper right hand corner.

Batman continued to stand where he was, staring at him.

"You knew." He said, his voice coming out just above a whisper.

The Joker smiled.

"Well of _course _I knew." He answered. "Don't I always? I'm not sure why you're continually surprised by that."

Again Bruce glanced about before again settling on the clown.

"You're going back to Arkham." He said stiffly.

The Joker laughed.

"No I'm not."

"You are." Batman insisted.

The Joker cocked his head to one side before sucking in his lower lip, placing the iron down.

From this distance, Bruce could see the darkened, blue and green bruising around the Joker's eyes and the bandaging on his nose and he knew it was from the beating he'd given him several nights ago.

"You're so stubborn." The Joker said.

Batman took a step forward.

"Are you coming quietly?" He asked, though his tone suggested it to be more of a threat then a question.

Again the Joker smiled.

"Absolutely not." He answered.

Bruce could feel his agitation flare and inadvertently his fists clenched tighter.

"I'll break you." He hissed.

"'fraid you already did that, doll. What you lack is originality."

Again Bruce stepped forward.

"Ah, ah!" The Joker stepped back, taking up the iron again. "I'll brand you."

Batman actually scoffed.

"You can't be serious." He said.

"About branding you? Sweetheart, I assure you, I take my ironing _very_ seriously."

"That won't stop me." Again Batman stepped forward.

The Joker again stepped back.

"Maybe not. But it'll still be fun, aiming for the one exposed part on your body. Might impact your popularity with the ladies, if the lower half of your face is marred by third degree burns."

He smiled wide.

"But then, maybe you wouldn't find that so bothersome, hmm?"

Batman lunged forward, anger consuming him. In an instant, he was on the Joker, grabbing tight to his wrists and slamming him backward, against the wall.

The iron dropped to the floor and the Joker began to laugh.

"You're so easy." He managed.

Bruce tightened his grip.

"So, big boy, are you gonna kiss me? Or are we just gonna gaze lovingly in to each others eyes all night?"

The vigilante said nothing, his expression still twisted to a frown.

"You know, if you take me back to Arkham, I'm just going to escape again." The Joker went on.

Bruce huffed and for a moment more, was silent.

"How long have you known?" He finally asked.

"Known?" The madman's tone was confused.

"Don't play _games_ with me Joker!" He hissed, slamming the lunatic's wrists back against the wall. "How long have you known who I am?"

"Oh, _that_." The Joker grinned, rolling his eyes. "_Ever_ so long. Since the beginning, really."

"The beginning?" Batman's eyes narrowed.

"Well, there might have been a month or so where I wasn't _sure_; though I'd always _suspected_. But you know what it was that confirmed it for me?" He giggled. "You're never going to believe me."

The crusader just glared back.

"Your _voice_ dear!" The lunatic said. "I saw you one day, talking on TV. You were holding a press conference or some such thing equally mundane. The _timbre_ of your voice doll. I recognized it instantly."

The Joker could see the immediate concern in the larger man's eyes, and he smiled wider.

"Oh, don't worry. It isn't _at all_ obvious. I have a gift, you see. I'm very good at picking up on the pitch and tone of different sounds, recognizing shared aspects between them. I can even sing you any note, _without_ reference. That's called perfect pitch! Would you like to hear?"

Bruce frowned.

"No." He said flatly.

The madman ignored him.

"This is C sharp." He said, than cleared his throat, proceeding to sing out.

Batman's expression didn't change.

"Pretty cool, huh?" The Joker smiled.

The vigilante stared back, clearly not amused.

"I'm taking you back to Arkham." He said.

"Heh." The Joker went on grinning.

And suddenly he leaned forward, his lips puckered.

Batman's eyes went wide, and in a panic, without thinking, he released his hold on the clown, stumbling backwards.

The lunatic laughed wildly, his eyes alight with excitement as he pushed himself from the wall, darting past the crusader, to the other side of the tiny apartment.

"Ha, ha Batman!" He called. "You're it!"

Bruce spun, facing him, his face pulled in annoyance.

Was the Joker _really_ playing this game?

"Stop acting like a _child_!" Batman spit. "I'm _not_ chasing you around this room."

Abruptly, the clown's shoulders slumped, and he pouted with over the top disappointment.

But as quickly as it came, it went, and he was at once smiling again.

"You simply _must_ darling. I won't come quietly!"

The crusader's lip twitched.

He could already feel a headache forming.

"Joker, I'm _warning_ you." He said through clenched teeth. "You can either make this easy on yourself or hard."

The Joker leered.

"I think hard love."

Batman's frown deepened.

"Fine. Have it your way."

And he shot forward suddenly, covering the distance between them quick.

The madman fell right, trying to avoid the charging vigilante, but Batman's reaction was almost instant, going with him.

And so the Joker flung himself left, only for Batman to again block his path.

They paused, staring at one another for a long moment.

The lunatic grinned madly.

And then Bruce shot in, his hands outreached, his fingers curling round the Joker's thin arms.

And he was sure he had him tight, had him secured.

But as his usual way was, the Joker struggled with a strength to belie his frail appearance, twisting with demonic fury, right out of Batman's grip.

He whooped with laughter, darting right under the stunned crusader's arm.

"You are too sure of yourself Sir!" He called as he barreled across the room.

Batman turned in quick fury, watching as the clown reached the opposite wall, whirling to face him before plastering himself against it, the grin never leaving his face.

The large man glared at him before, slowly, he took a step forward.

The Joker flinched right, than stopped as he saw Batman halt his advance.

His eyes were wide and Bruce thought he looked mad.

Another step.

"Heee…" The thin man's smile widened as he stood still.

And then Batman took two quick steps forward, and the Joker scrambled, pulling himself on to a three drawer dresser, sat at his side.

Bruce again paused, looking up at him, the madman looking back.

"There's no where to go Joker. Just come down from there. You're only making this hard on yourself."

"Oh, I think I'm making it pretty hard on you too." The Joker answered, his tone flippant.

The vigilante didn't even attempt to hide his agitation, his mouth twisting in disgust.

"I'm _through _playing around." He spit. "Come down _now_ or I promise, in the morning, you'll feel like you've been run over by a truck."

"Actually…" The Joker smiled. "I _have_ been run over by a truck. So I know how it feels. And so I'll _also _know if that promise is true, or just another of your _empty_ threats."

That did it.

Batman launched himself forward, intent now of wiping the grin from the madman's face.

The Joker could see the determination and quickly his eyes scanned over the area.

There was no clear path to the door.

He knew if he jumped down and tried going around Batman, he would be easily overtaken by the crusaders speed, stopped before he was within five feet.

It seemed then the game would end for tonight.

But as he looked back to the rapidly approaching vigilante, he caught sight on the room's ceiling fan, and instantly his eyes lit up.

Yes!

There was no hesitation as he leapt from the dresser, his hands outreached, just barely catching the blades of the fan.

He'd gone right over Batman's head, and the vigilante looked up in surprise, certain he'd had the lunatic.

"You crazy son of a…" He seethed, watching as the Joker swung back then forward, his legs dangling.

In his frustration, Bruce moved after him, reaching up and taking hold of the thin man's ankles.

The clown only giggled in response, continuing to pivot his body back and forth.

Batman's teeth ground down.

"What are you _doing_?" He raged.

"Swingin' in the rain!" The Joker laughed. "Of course, there's no rain. Well, actually, there's a _hole_ in the roof of this building, so when it DOES rain, it sometimes leaks down through the floorboards above. But right NOW, there's no rain. Really though, that shouldn't stop me!"

"Psychotic…" Bruce mumbled, grabbing higher around the Joker's leg, trying to get a better grip.

The Joker laughed wildly.

And then there was a sound, like something cracking, and he looked up, noticing the plaster of the ceiling beginning to come lose, a hairline crack forming from the fan's stem, outward.

"Uh… oh."

The whole thing came loose, tearing from the ceiling, crashing down, the Joker still hanging to it.

There was a loud crash, dust and debris exploding all around, filling the air thick.

The Joker felt the sharp jolt as his body impacted, the pain forcing a grunt which quickly slid in to laughter.

"Whoo, ha ha!"

He pushed from him what was left of the fan, along with it large chunks of plaster, struggling to his feet as he doubled over in hysterics, stumbling towards the door.

He reached it quickly, taking hold the handle and swinging it wide.

But as he went through, only then did he realize he heard no approaching footsteps behind, and he stopped, looking back over his shoulder, his eyes met with the sight of Batman, lying unconscious across the floor.

Almost immediately the smile went from the lunatic's face and he turned fully.

"Batman?"

He approached slowly, weary indeed that it may be a trick on the vigilante's part.

It wouldn't have been the first time he'd gotten his hands on the clown that way.

"Batman?" He called again, stopping only a few short feet from him.

There was no reply, and so the Joker stepped closer, until he was directly beside the fallen crusader.

He crouched down.

"Batman?" He tried once more, reaching a hand out, touching his fingers to the exposed part of the larger man's face.

Still no reaction.

Definitely out then.

The Joker's frown deepened then as he realized the jolt he'd felt had happened before he'd made contact with the floor, and that it must have been caused by him, along with the fan, landing directly atop Batman's head.

This wasn't good.

"Come on Bats." He tried, taking hold the vigilante's face, lifting his head up off the ground. "Get up."

Nothing.

The madman's brow furrowed.

"_Damn it_ Batman!" He snapped. "Stop playing around! Get up already!"

He let the crusader go and watched in dismay as he simply fell back to the floor.

His eyes went suddenly wide as an utterly unfamiliar sensation dropped down through his stomach.

He leaned forward, laying his palms on the floor and pressing his ear flat against the large man's chest, listening.

The sensation dissipated as he heard the heart beat.

He pushed himself back up, staring at the vigilante, still frowning.

Now what?

He wasn't dead.

That was good.

But he was hurt.

More hurt then the Joker usually accomplished.

It was an accident, of course. He would never actually…

He shook his head, standing.

"Stupid Bat…" He muttered. "This kind of thing isn't supposed to happen to _you_."

He bent, hooking his hands underneath Batman's armpits, grunting as he tried lifting him up.

"Oooff… Jesus Bats, you're heavy! What are _eating_? Whatever it is, I think you need to cut back."

He started dragging him backwards, towards the bed, struggling visibly.

He already was huffing when at last he reached it, sucking in deep as he prepared to try and lift the unconscious man on to the mattress.

His teeth gritted with the strain and his knees bent as he put all his strength in to it, heaving the massive frame up, pulling him on to the bed.

With a heavy release of air, he let him drop, now breathing hard, falling backward on to his bottom, sitting down on the floor, his knees brought up, his elbows resting atop them.

For the next, few minutes, he just stayed there, staring at the vigilante, thinking.

And then his eyes lit up, suddenly, and he jumped to his feet, moving back towards the other man.

Again he reached down, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him up.

Batman flopped limply forward and the Joker pressed a hand against his chest, pushing him back.

"Stay." He said.

And then he hooked his hands under his armpits again, fighting to lift him up and back, until the crusaders back rested against the wall.

Another exhale of breath.

He stood back, his hands on his hips, looking the vigilante over.

He might have a concussion.

The mask had to go.

"You're gonna be mad Batsy." The Joker said quietly as he went to remove it.

The thing came off with relative ease, the clown figuring out quickly how to bypass its security measure, cutting it carefully open with a knife and short-circuiting the wires.

When he pulled it from Batman's head, he placed it aside, by him on the mattress, and just stood, observing the larger man.

He smiled.

"You _are_ a good looking fellow." He said, reaching forward, brushing some strands of dark hair softly from the crusaders forehead. "How easy it would be for you, to escape all this. To live a _normal _existence… That separates us, doesn't it? I could never pretend… even if I wanted to. That can never be for someone like myself. Me, the disfigured outcast, hee. But it's there for _you_. The chance to walk away. And yet… you don't. You have true conviction dear, true belief in what you claim, as misguided as all it may be. You should know I admire you for that. For your unwillingness to compromise those convictions, no matter the circumstance… Like me…" He smiled again. "Perhaps… perhaps you too are unable to pretend. You after all see things so vividly. As vividly as I. It becomes impossible to ignore when it's like that. As clear as that. Like some moving picture, where the farce of everything is all too obvious. And that… that links us. Heh. That binds us forever."

He then reached for one of the bed's pillows, taking it up, then pulling Batman slightly forward before placing the cushioning behind his neck, pushing him back against it.

"You'll do fine here." He spoke to him again. "Though it's certain you'll have a terrible headache when you wake.

For a few moments more, he studied the unconscious man, and then he stepped back.

He was going to have to leave, find some place new to stay.

Batman would be beside himself with anger when at last he awoke, and he wouldn't hesitate in bringing the Joker to Arkham then, especially knowing where he now lived.

The Joker didn't feel like going through all that right now.

"Until the next time, my darling, I bid you adieu." He said, smiling at the crusader.

And then he turned, back towards the door, taking up the cane he'd left by its side before waltzing from the place, whistling some merry tune as he skipped down the steps, two at a time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

At first, Bruce didn't notice the dull, throbbing pain in his head.

But all too quickly, it came crashing down, and he groaned aloud, his hand moving to his temple.

He'd been woken by the sun filtering through a window off to his right.

It took some seconds for his mind and vision to clear as he glanced about the defunct apartment complex.

It came back slowly, remembering the Joker hanging from the ceiling, him standing beneath, trying to get him down, and then… when he realized what had happened, he groaned again, covering his face with his hand, shaking his head.

"Stupid." He mumbled.

It was then he noticed his cowl was missing and his eyes went wide.

"Where?" He breathed, alarmed, his eyes moving about.

And then they fell on it, placed beside him.

"How in the hell…?"

The Joker must have removed his mask. But _how_? There was a safety mechanism…

He reached quickly to a point just above his collarbone, feeling where the suit had been cut open.

"Sonofabitch…" He muttered angrily.

Now the question of _why _the lunatic had taken his cowl off forced itself in to his mind.

And very quickly, everything fell in to focus.

He was sitting upright, on a bed he realized, and he then became aware of a pillow, supported behind his neck, against a wall.

The Joker must have done all this. Moved him here and placed the pillow.

How utterly bizarre he was.

Batman's frustration was immense in having to admit how very little he understood the Joker, what it was that drove him to act as he did. It was one moment the clown was savage and uncontrolled, brutally violent, without reservation or hesitation of any kind, and the next, he was taking the time to create a more comfortable situation for a man who routinely made it his _business_ to beat him to hell.

Inexplicably Bruce experienced what felt very much like guilt.

He shook his head.

Why the hell would he feel guilt?

The bastard had almost killed him with his ridiculous antics!

The thought suddenly occurred to him that the Joker wasn't within sight and he glanced around quickly, at once finding himself defensive.

But it seemed he was alone.

He breathed in deeply through his nose, pushing himself from the mattress.

His curiosity consumed him then.

It struck him as odd, for whatever reason, that the Joker had actually been living in an apartment. He'd always imagined the lunatic holed up in some abandoned factory someplace. That notion was supported by his having found the Joker in exactly those sorts of places in the past.

But as he thought about it, he came to the realization that most times, he and the Joker had met on the street, or some other place public, as though they'd found each other, and it was rare for him to actually come upon him in whatever shelter he'd taken up. Batman thought then that the madman likely stayed often in apartments like this one here.

He'd just never found him in one.

As he scanned his eyes over the room, he felt his curiosity grow stronger and he wondered if maybe he could find something out about the Joker from what was here.

The place was small. One room, with a bathroom and a kitchenette at the area's left hand side.

It was also sparse, from what Bruce could tell.

There was the bed, in the upper right hand corner. A single's mattress on a rickety looking frame. There was a single pillow and no blanket.

Reaching out, Bruce pressed his fingers in to it. It creaked loudly and he could feel the metal springs through the thin material on top. It would be hell to sleep on it, he thought. Glancing at the pillow, he saw it was riddled with small, dried spots of blood.

He frowned, leaning in closer to look at it.

He studied the blood for a few moments, noticing some of it seemed fairly fresh, maybe from the last day or so. Other spots still looked old.

Turning from the bed, Batman's eyes moved to the kitchenette.

It looked barren.

And for the most part, it was.

He found a box of cereal in one of the cupboards, as well as an empty can of coffee. But that was it.

Seeing the miniature refrigerator, Bruce bent down, opening it.

Inside were a couple of cans of Coke-A-Cola and an unopened TV dinner. One of those ones they make for children.

Bruce almost smirked at the sight of it.

He found himself wondering how the Joker could stand living like this. He'd always envisioned the lunatic as living it up, somehow, as immersed in luxury. He supposed he thought that because of how finely the Joker always dressed. There never had been a moment when he'd found the madman clothed in anything less then high end Italian imports, save for those times when he was locked up in Arkham.

But from the looks of everything here, the Joker lived in practical squalor.

Looking to his left, he spotted what could only be described as a ridiculous number of hundred dollar bills, lying scattered and unorganized in one of the room's corners.

Moving towards it, Bruce could see right away that there must have been close to a half a million in cash, just lying there, unattended, some of it stacked and rising up against the wall, the rest splayed out at the bottom. If anyone were to stumble upon it, they would take it up greedily and hide it away some place safe. But these bills were collecting dust, in plain sight for everyone to see.

And now, apparently, the Joker had abandoned it.

Bruce turned away.

With as much as he'd stolen over the years, the Joker could be living a life comparable in luxury to his own playboy persona.

But very clearly he did not.

Scanning the room again, Bruce noted the now knocked over ironing board from earlier.

And then he spotted a box by the foot of the bed. Going towards it, he saw it was filled with what looked like toys.

His brow furrowed as he grabbed hold of the cardboards edge and pulled it out a little.

They looked to be just normal toys. But with the Joker, it almost always was the case that appearances were deceiving.

He grabbed hold of a teddy bear, lifting it up, scrutinizing it closely. But nothing with it seemed unusual.

He rifled through some of the other toys. They all were normal.

He pushed the box back with his foot, a sinking feeling consuming him suddenly.

Looking up, he noticed the bathroom, walking to it and pushing the door open.

Inside was tiny. Just a sink and toilet and a corner which contained a shower. There barely was enough room to stand under the head and with as tall as the Joker was, Batman wondered how he stood under it at all.

He noticed along the dirty, tiled floor were yet more blood stains, and along the rim of the sink. Sat on its side was a bottle of hair gel and shampoo. The mirror above it was dirty and cracked.

He could hear the Joker's voice in his head, telling him when he was ready, he would let him know where to find him.

Suddenly he became aware of how much time had past, again noticing the light filtering in from the other room.

What time was it?

Alfred would doubtless be worried.

He needed to get home.

/

"Tum, tum, tutum, daa, dee daadaa." The Joker smoothed his hands over the cotton sheets of the bed, enjoying the feel of it against his palms.

It had been an inconvenience, finding a new place. But with Batsy struggling most apparently with that little thing called anger management, his knowing where he'd been living wasn't ideal. The tight ass was going to have to blow off a little steam before _that _would work.

He'd been lucky, coming upon this apartment. Three neighborhoods from his old place, in yet another abandoned complex. He'd gone through several units, until he found one still furnished, if only barely, and just slightly larger then his other. It had this bed, with what looked like clean sheets. In the corner across from it was a recliner.

The only other piece of furniture was a dust covered dresser with a lamp on top. The bulb was burnt out and there were no other lights in the place. The Joker had sighed at the prospect of having to _get_ light bulbs. He hated doing things like that.

Ruffling around in his pockets, he realized he had no money.

Not that that was really much of a problem.

Sure, it was _easier_ walking in to a grocery store and paying for things. But it was also just plain _boring_.

And besides, if he was being honest, going _anywhere_ as himself was never an easy affair.

In any event, conditions as they were weren't conducive to work.

The thought of rest past briefly through his mind as he tried to recall when last it was he'd actually _slept_. It had been several days, that he knew, though it was rare he ever saw more then forty minutes sleep on days he actually was able to attain it.

A rapid fire succession of ever changing thoughts kept him awake, and then dreams in slumber would inevitably drive him to consciousness, his mind perpetually active.

It was only under heavy sedation he ever experienced more then an hours rest.

But he'd always thought it better, being as he was. Sleep, after all, seemed such a waste of what little time there was. _Fun_, he'd deduced long ago, was the only worthwhile endeavor in this world.

The doctors at Arkham told him he was sleep deprived, that his body, essentially, was running on empty; that he was putting copious amounts of stress on it, forcing it in to a state of constant exhaustion, and that eventually, it was going to catch up to him.

But he didn't pay their warnings any mind.

He _felt_ fine, full of energy and enthusiasm, and his mind sharp.

He would just as soon go _entirely_ without sleep, if it were something possible.

As it was, he often forgot even to _try_.

And still he had yet to ever, _really_ feel the effects.

There'd been a few times where he'd felt less then stellar, to be sure, but that was usually when he'd been suffering some type of injury. A gunshot or knife wound maybe, and even then, it took more then physical fatigue and a loss of blood to slow _him _down.

Sleep could wait.

There was still adventure to be had that day.

/

When finally he reached home, pulling in to the batcave, he saw Alfred slumped over the control board of the main computer monitor, sleeping.

Funny enough, the sound of the engine powering down was what seemed to wake him. He shot up, his head spinning around in the cars direction, and for a few moments he stared at it, bleary eyed, until the cockpit roof slid open and Batman jumped from it.

Almost immediately Alfred rose.

"Master Bruce!" He exclaimed. "Thank heavens! Where have you been!"

"It's a long story Alfred." Bruce sighed, not at _all_ feeling like talking about this.

Alfred watched him carefully as he moved past, practically falling in to the seat the butler had only moments ago occupied.

"It's been more then 24 hours Sir." Alfred calmly noted.

He paused, eyeing the vigilante.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Master Bruce?"

Again Bruce sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"No Alfred. I'm fine."

"Are you quite certain?" Alfred pressed, seeing right through him.

Finally Bruce looked up at him, forcing a faint smile.

"It's just this whole Joker thing is all." He waved a hand dismissively.

Alfred's posture straightened even more.

"I see." He said. "It's been quite troublesome for you, hasn't it?"

"I'm always on edge when the Joker's loose." Batman replied.

"Yes. That is accurate. Though recently, it seems you've been more bothered by the madman's freedom then what you _normally _are."

"Alfred, really, I'm fine." Bruce insisted, his impatience coming through. "I've just been tired."

"Indeed." Alfred said, his expression entirely skeptical. "But please Sir, do remember, if you need to talk…"

"I know Alfred." Bruce answered. "I know."


	7. Chapter 7

**Alright guys, so the story finally starts to really **_**start**_** in this chapter. And here's where it begins to deviate substantially from what I originally had. Let me know what you think. If you like it, if you hate it, etc… Anyway, here it is:**

**Chapter 7:**

Three months had gone by without sign of the Joker.

As though, literally, he'd disappeared.

But he'd done this before, vanishing for months at a time.

Bruce recalled one time when the lunatic had been gone nearly a year before showing back up. He'd made his return obvious though, setting off a number of high powered fireworks from the roof of Gotham Central.

How he'd set up the whole affair, the vigilante never knew.

Nor had he ever found out where the Joker had gone or what he'd done in the ten and a half months he'd been away.

Either way, he knew better then to assume the madman was ever gone for good.

He always came back, and always with Batman as his focus.

And that was precisely the fear which gripped him when he saw the signal wash across the sky, calling him to the rooftop of GCPD's headquarters.

There he found Gordon, waiting, patient as ever, his arms crossed over his chest, trying to shield himself from the cold of the inset winter.

He called out to him.

"I'm here Gordon."

The older man spun around, his eyes taking a moment to find the crusader within the shadows, relief washing over his weathered features as he at last made him out.

He moved forward, shutting the signal off.

"Batman, thank God."

"What is it?" Batman asked.

"We've got a situation…" The Commissioner began.

The vigilante stood, silent.

"Earlier tonight, we found the bodies of three mafia dons, stripped naked, mutilated and left out in a line together, in Gossers Park."

Batman said nothing.

"There was a note left with them. Whoever did this, they're calling themselves "The Order of Chaos", and apparently, they've been making moves in the underground the last few weeks. And these guys aren't playing. If you'd seen what they did…"

"What else?" The crusader asked.

"The name of these guys… "Order of Chaos", and where they left the bodies… that's where you last saw Joker, isn't it?"

"You think he's involved." Batman stated.

"I don't know." Gordon said. "But it wouldn't be the first time that maniac's made moves on the mafia."

"No, it wouldn't." Batman conceded.

"The bodies were cut to ribbons. The violence of it certainly fits with the Joker's MO."

"Maybe." Batman said.

"Maybe?" The Commissioner asked. "How does it not? The Joker's nothing short of a complete savage."

The vigilante said nothing to that.

He wasn't going to stand here and argue with Jim about the Joker's nature. The madman had shown in the past he was capable of the most horrific of crimes, no doubt, and he had more blood on his hands then just about any other in the city. But it was also foolish to reduce him to something so simple as a blood-thirsty serial killer. The Joker was much more then that, far more complex, and what drove him could never be so generalized, so simplified.

The last time he'd seen the clown, violence hadn't been in him. Most especially the kind Gordon now spoke of.

Certainly, that could have changed in the months since, and he understood the Commissioner's inclination in suspecting the Joker, given the location of the dump site and the name left by the perpetrator.

The Joker was persistent in his theories of chaos. He talked constantly of it. A philosophy he did not simply preach, but lived his life by.

He insisted to Batman without fail that each of them came to represent the two essential forces of the universe, the formation of life and its eventual death; creation and destruction. He claimed fervently that one could not exist without the other, and he said to _them_, the same was true.

Batman dismissed the Joker's words as the ramblings of a madman, unable to process the reality of the world in which he lived. Though given the eloquence and assuredness with which the Joker delivered his philosophy, one would be forgiven for giving it some consideration, as Batman had.

But always, ultimately, he concluded the same. It was nothing more then madness, spoken with great articulation by a lunatic.

Still, he wasn't blindly going to pin the blame for these recent murders on the clown, even if the desire to do so was there.

"I'll look in to it." He said.

He turned then, his movement to the roofs edge silent, save the crush of snow underneath his boots. And without another word, he was gone.

/

He lowered himself on to the bench, his arms spreading out behind, resting across the seats back.

He crossed one of his legs over the other and leaned back, his head tilting up towards the sky.

It was clear overhead, despite the snowfall from the night before, and the stars shone brightly, burning strong in his eyes.

"The infinite!" He said, spreading his arms wide, taking in the vast expanse of blackened blue, thinking of the universe beyond. He smiled. "And the _infinitesimal_." He laughed, placing his hands against his chest.

He watched as his exhale of breath turned to mist, and for a moment, he became engrossed, puffing out heavily to see it happen again. And again after that.

There was a man across the street from where he sat, watching him, thinking himself obscured by the shadows of the alleyway in which he stood.

The Joker had become aware of him several blocks back, as he'd walked the city streets. Something he did often in the early morning hours, when so few others were around.

He thought he might stop and confront the fellow, privy him to why most people didn't make a habit of _following_ the Joker about, most especially in a sneaking manner.

But his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he'd decided then to let the man continue in his little game, if only to see what his intention was.

Again he threw his arms over the back of the bench, staring straight ahead now.

He would wait, and if the man never built the courage to approach him, then of course, he would be all to happy to take the initiative.

But he wouldn't have to, as half an hour later, the man finally stepped from his hiding place, beginning across the street towards the lunatic.

The Joker kept his eyes trained ahead, not acknowledging his stalker, even as he came to a stop, just a few feet away.

Several moments past in silence, the man just standing there, staring.

Finally the Joker breathed in, letting it go loud.

"What is it you think you'll accomplish standing there?" He asked, keeping his gaze ahead of him.

The man started, straightening.

"An invitation has been extended. Your acceptance is requested, to stand under our leader as his most high ranking officer, in The Orde…"

"Stop." The Joker cut him short. "Just… stop talking." At last he looked to the man, his head cocking to the side, for the first time noticing his build. Short but thickly built. Obviously strong. "Your diatribe bores me."

He stood suddenly, smoothing his hands over his jacket.

"I'm going to leave." He went on, looking down at him.

The man's eyes didn't change.

"Your acceptance is requested,…" He started again. "to stand under our leader as his most…"

"Are you a robot of some kind?" The madman asked. "You may have to be, to show such blatant stupidity. Let me be, pathetic wretch."

And he began to turn, to stride away, when the man reached out, taking hold of his arm.

His grip was strong, the Joker noted, painful.

Anger took him quickly, and he turned back.

"Your acceptance is requested…" The man began to repeat.

"You ridiculous thing…" The Joker said, reaching calmly in to his coats inside pocket.

The hold on his arm increased in pressure, and the lunatic was sure now this man was much stronger then himself, and apparently without fear.

The Joker could see it was from some kind of brain washing. He'd know that look of unmitigated devotion anywhere. He'd caused it in more then his fair share of people in the past.

It didn't matter.

His long fingers curled round his guns handle and he pulled it free, quickly pressing the barrel to the man's head.

"Goodbye." He said.

He pulled the trigger, his eyes closing inadvertently at the sound and the explosion of blood against his face.

The man had already fallen to the ground when his lids lifted.

He looked down at him, frowning.

"Now see what you've done?" He began. "Gotten your filthall _over_ my new suit." He shook his head. "Your lack of class is astonishing."

He stepped back, eyeing the body with half its head gone, the red and brain matter standing starkly against the white of the snow.

He shrugged, pocketing the gun again.

And then he turned, striding away, whistling to himself "I'm on the Top of the World".

/

Bruce had kept his word. He'd looked in to it.

Donning a disguise as he often did, and hanging about the less then law-abiding crowds of Gotham's underbelly, he'd found out only a minimal amount on this new group.

What he found though was interesting, to say the least, and Jim had been right to think of the Joker.

Though not in the way the Commissioner suspected, it seemed.

This group, from what Bruce could gather, had been busy aggressively recruiting, though no one knew much of them, and those who did seemed unwilling to really talk.

One man though, he'd been able to work some info from.

"They're lookin' for the Joker." He'd whispered conspiratorially to Bruce.

This had taken the crusader slightly aback.

"The Joker?" He asked in his put on accent.

"Yeah." The man said. "They been askin' around, askin' where they can find the clown. Nobody'll talk to em' though. Nobody wants nothin' to do with that freak show. Too fuckin' crazy. But these idiots don't seem to understand. They wanna know where he's at."

Bruce had felt a pique of annoyance at the man's terminology, but he forced himself not to think about why, and continued in his questioning.

"What do ya think they want with him?"

The man shrugged.

"Beats the hell outta me. Anyone with functionin' brain cells know to keep away from that wack job, I always says."

"Do you think he's involved?" Bruce pushed. "Cause if he is, I don't know 'bout wanting to join no more."

The man laughed.

"See? You got some brains. But naw…" He shook his head. "I don't think the clowns got nothin' to do with these guys. No ones even seen him for months now. And it seemed to me they were interested in gettin' together with him, doing a… whatch'u call that? A team up or somethin'." Again he laughed.

"Did they say where you could sign up to join their crew?" The vigilante went on.

The man shook his head.

"I don't know." He said, sounding suddenly nervous. "I don't know. I walked away from this dude after he asked me 'bout the Joker. 'sides, he had that cultist look, ya know? Like he wasn't thinkin' for himself. I don't like that shit."

Bruce had nodded, and they talked a few minutes more before the crusader made his excuses and took his leave.

The fact this group was looking for the Joker wasn't good, whether the lunatic was involved or not. It could only spell trouble, either way, and Bruce realized he was going to have to find the Joker before they did.

That wasn't going to be easy, considering the madman seemed recently to have fallen off the map.

He told Gordon what he'd found out, and of course, the Commissioner had replied with "I knew that bastard was involved!"

Bruce hadn't bothered with telling him he didn't think the Joker was involved at all.

"I'm going to find him." He'd said instead.

"We're on it too." Gordon had replied.

Bruce refrained from telling him not to waste his time.

When the Joker wanted to disappear, he most usually stayed that way.

Batman himself had a ridiculously hard time finding him then.

He'd tried, all those months back, when he'd woken up in the clown's abandoned apartment, but he'd been unsuccessful, and a string of escapes from Arkham had kept him occupied after that, unable to focus his attention on finding the lunatic.

Now though he didn't have a choice.

He _had _to find him, or he feared things would get very ugly, very quickly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

Finding the Joker had indeed turned out to be an exercise in frustration.

For two weeks, the detective had searched, all over the city, from run down tenement flats to several of the clown's old hideaways, interrogating any and every lowlife he thought might have made contact with the lunatic. But no one had seen or heard from him in months.

It was getting to the point he almost wished the Joker would just _do_ something.

A kind of sinking feeling had started to settle in to the pit of his stomach as each place he looked turned out empty, and each man he questioned had no answers. A kind of worry, a kind of _fear_ that something had happened to the clown.

He would push the realization of this feeling aside, not wanting to ponder on the cause of it.

But ignoring it didn't stop the sudden and palpable relief he felt when, starting in to the third week, searching the streets on foot, he heard a voice call out to him, a voice he recognized, and an instant later, he saw the familiar face emerge from out the shadows of a nearby alleyway.

Bruce turned more fully to meet him, his eyes running over the lithe form of his greatest enemy, taking him in, noting him with scrutiny.

As always, he was presented finely, wearing a double-breasted, navy blue suit, one which looked as though it were made from silk, no coat, a deep green dress shirt visible along his chest, accompanied by a bright, red tie. Atop his head sat an expensive looking straw skimmer hat with a red band, and on his feet he wore Milonguero style shoes, black and white, stiff leather.

He stepped towards the crusader, than stopped, only feet away.

For what seemed the longest moment, the two just stood, studying each other, their focus intent and undeterred.

And then the Joker lifted his hand to his head, taking hold of his hat.

He held it by the brim, flipping it round, his eyes never leaving Batman.

He smiled.

"Hello." He said. "You've been looking for me."

The crusader took a step forward.

The Joker smiled warmly.

"It's quiet." He spoke.

Batman's expression grew confused.

"What?"

"Strange, isn't it?" The lunatic went on. "Like stepping in to a dream."

The thin man's eyes looked suddenly distant, unfocused as he continued to twirl his hat between his long hands.

It was bitterly cold, the snow thick on the ground, the sky overcast; grey.

Abruptly, the Joker started.

"Here!" He shouted, tossing his skimmer at the detective's face.

Immediately Bruce fell back, thinking it was some kind of attack.

The madman laughed loudly, turning fast on his heel and taking off in the opposite direction.

Batman managed to avoid the hat by just centimeters. He watched as it fell lightly to the ground, jumping back from it, half expecting the thing to explode.

But it just sat there, doing nothing, and the crusader realized with mild agitation it was nothing more then what it appeared.

Looking back up, he saw the Joker, just turning the corner, down another street.

"Damn it…" He mumbled, sprinting after him.

/

His eyes scanned the area in front of him; an alleyway, blanketed white, empty.

But he'd _seen_ him duck in here. Heard the crash of a trashcan as it was knocked to its side.

Slowly he moved forward, his eyes shifting down to stare at the dragging footprints.

He went on.

This was _not_ going how he'd planned.

But then, he wondered to himself why he ever bothered planning _anything_ when it came to this man.

It was with that thought he heard the sound of rustling paper and a moment after felt a soft smack against the back of his head.

He spun quickly, angrily, and found himself met with the sight of the Joker, standing maybe only 10 feet back, a ridiculously happy, lopsided grin plastered over his face. He was breathing hard, his hair wet and plastered to his forehead. In his left hand he held a fistful of snow.

"Made ya look!" He shouted giddily. And then he reared his arm back, unfurling the snowball, aimed directly for Batman's face.

The crusader ducked away easily this time, the snowball whizzing past his head, crashing in the side of a trash bin.

The Joker frowned.

"That's not fair!" He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're not _supposed_ to use exceptional reflexes in snowball fights! Part of the fun's in getting _hit_, after all!"

Batman huffed in annoyance.

"Joker, would you just stop and _listen_ to me for a minute!"

The madman stared at him, his brow furrowing in mock confusion.

And then he shrugged, turning away, his shoulders slumping in over the top dejection.

"You never want to play in the snow…" He said softly, his voice sad as he began to walk away.

"Grrahh!" Batman growled, tired of this game.

He pulled his grappling gun from his belt, taking aim at the clown's ankles and firing.

It's hook shot out, wrapping round the thin man's calves.

The vigilante gave it a hard tug, and the Joker's feet came out from under him, throwing him to his stomach.

"Umph!"

Batman pressed a button and the line began to real back, dragging the lunatic with it.

The Joker began to giggle.

"Ohhh, Batsyyyy…" He began in a sing-song. "You're so _very_ incorrigible!"

And as he was being pulled, he reached in to his coat pocket, pulling from it a knife, turning and immediately taking its blade to the cord, beginning to saw.

It snapped and the clown's giggling intensified as he let himself flop face first in to the snow.

Batman's mouth twisted in disgust and he tossed the grapple down.

He could see tonight the madman wasn't exactly intent on violence, and so he wasn't concerned by the knife.

"Joker, _please_…" He finally implored.

God, it was like talking to a small _child_.

The clown finally relented, pushing himself to a sitting position, turning to face the crusader.

He sighed.

"Not in the mood tonight, huh Bats?" He said, bringing his knees up and apart, resting his elbows atop them.

Batman glared back.

"I'm _never_ in the mood for your games Joker." He spit.

"No…" The Joker shook his head. "You are. Even if you don't always realize it."

The vigilante chose to ignore that comment.

"Joker, just… _listen_ to me. I…" He hesitated.

"What…?" The thin man said, beginning to pick absentmindedly at his nails with the tip of the blade. "Come to finally confess your _undying_ love for me?" He chuckled.

"_No_!" Batman immediately spit, and the Joker's laughter only grew.

The crusader fumed, feeling his hands clench to fists.

Why was the lunatic always so _able_ to _agitate_ him?

He would tell himself it was going to happen, that he couldn't allow the taunting and teasing to get to him, but it always somehow _would_.

He had to calm down or he was going to beat the Joker in to oblivion and haul him back to Arkham, which is what he _didn't_ want at the moment.

He breathed in deeply, letting it go, telling himself to relax.

"I need to talk to you." He said, his voice controlled and measured.

The Joker paused, looking up from his nails. His eyes narrowed.

"You mean, you _aren't _here to beat me up and drag me back to the asylum?" He asked, as though genuinely shocked.

Batman glared at him, his mouth twisting in to a frown.

"No." He said simply.

Again the clown began to laugh, and quickly it developed in to all out hysterics as he doubled over, his arms wrapping round himself.

The same anger returned to Batman as he watched the Joker's whole body shake with amusement, and every ounce of his will was needed to keep from attacking as the lunatic fell to his back, the sound of his mirth rising in to the air, echoing off the walls of the surrounding buildings.

"Heeeheeheee Oh B-Batman, heehee… t-this is _fun_!" He continued to giggle manically, his arms still wrapped round his stomach.

"Damn it Joker! This is _serious_!" The vigilante raged, his voice rising. "If you don't stop, I swear, I'm going to come over there and…"

"And what?" The Joker asked, his laughter abruptly cut as he remained with his back on the ground, his eyes fixed on the sky above, taking in the strange light of it. "Hit me?"

Batman breathed out heavily through his nose, his jaw clenched.

God, he _wanted _to. But it would do no good.

It never did with him.

The psychopath would only laugh louder, and then accuse him of being a violent sadist.

"Joker…" He said, his voice suddenly losing its edge, sounding deflated.

"Oh, alright! What?"

He stared at the thin man, now perfectly still, still lying flat.

And he thought suddenly he must be cold, lying in the snow like that, surrounded by frigid air, wearing nothing more then a tailored dress suit.

He shook his head.

Why the hell should he care whether the _Joker_ was comfortable or not?

He didn't.

It was just the clown screwing with his head, as usual.

He was good at that. Good at messing with emotions.

Like how he made Batman _want_ to be violent.

No one else did that to him.

No one else made him want to _hurt _them.

"… I need to ask you some questions."

"Mmmhmm." The Joker replied.

"There's been talk of a new criminal organization making moves underground. You hear anything about that?"

"Mmm… uh uh…" The lunatic replied. And it didn't escape the crusader's notice that he'd begun to slide his arms and legs in and out, creating a snow angle.

He decided to ignore it.

"You haven't heard anything?" He questioned further.

The Joker shook his head.

"That's funny." Batman pressed. "Because word is, the number one guy they're looking to recruit is you."

All this information did was elicit a sharp giggle from the madman.

"I would have thought you'd heard of them." The vigilante said, his voice now clipped in frustration.

Suddenly the Joker stopped his movements.

"You know…" He began. "Now that I think of it, there _was_ some guy who actually _came up_ to me the other day."

He lifted his head to look at Batman.

Batman stared back at him, his expression incredulous.

"I _know_! Right?" The Joker exclaimed. "He was saying something about the rise of something or other, and going on about some invitation being extended, yada yada yada…"

Batman frowned.

"Did he give you a name?"

"Nah." The Joker shrugged. "I didn't know who he was and he was talking too much, so I shot him."

"You _what_?"

The Joker blinked, looking confused.

"I shot him." He repeated with the same casualness.

"God _damn it_ Joker! You psychotic lunatic!"

"_Me_?" The clown pressed a hand against his chest. "_This_ guy was the nutjob. I'm telling you, he had the vibe of a cultist. Those guys give me the creeps." He gave an exaggerated show of being chilled.

Batman brought his hand to his head, his eyes closing.

"_Just breathe Bruce. __Breathe__._"

A few moments more past, and finally he looked back to the Joker.

He could feel himself clenching his hands to fists.

The clown was looking back at him, his brows raised with expectancy.

"… They're calling themselves The Order of Chaos." The vigilante breathed slowly, trying to remain focused.

Immediately the Joker's brow furrowed, his mouth twisting to a frown.

"The _Order_ of Chaos?" He questioned. "Isn't that a bit… _contradictory_?"

He looked displeased.

"They've been recruiting." Batman went on. "Aggressively. And supposedly they've been asking about you. Where they can find you."

The Joker looked entirely annoyed now.

"What kind of a name is that?" He asked. "It's patently absurd. It doesn't even make any sense!"

"Did you just hear me?" The detective questioned. "They're looking for you."

The lunatic waved a dismissive hand.

"Anyone who knows what's good for them knows not to seek me out." He smiled. "Except, of course, you dear."

Batman frowned.

"… Where have you been?"

The clown's smile widened.

"Aww, how very _thoughtful_ you are. You've been _worried_."

"Not about you." Batman answered.

The Joker just kept grinning.

"Answer the question." Batman pushed.

The Joker shrugged, falling again to his back.

"Around." He said.

"_Here_?"

"Here and there." The Joker chuckled.

The crusader fumed, stepping fast towards the lunatic.

"Answer me straight!" He spit, reaching down and taking hold of the Joker's jacket, jerking him up.

The Joker laughed uncontrollably, going limp in the vigilante's powerful hands.

"Be _serious_!" The crusader raged. "These people, whoever the hell they are, have been going after Mafia dons, killing them in brutal fashion. And if what you tell me is true, and you killed one of their men, how long do you think it'll be before they come after _you_?"

The Joker giggled madly.

"L-let them come…" He laughed. "I think it should be g-great fun!"

Batman's teeth ground hard together, his frustration growing absolute. Finally he shoved the hysterical man back to the ground, turning in agitation.

"They might kill you." He said, his voice low, going still.

The maniac's mirth continued in spurts as he tried to catch his breath.

"Y-your concern is m-_most_ endearing Batman." He answered, lifting himself on to his elbows and eyeing the broad shouldered vigilante. "But I can take care of myself."

Bruce shook his head, looking down. Images flashed through his mind of the murders this group had committed, how gruesome they'd been.

The Joker _could_ take care of himself. And what the hell did Batman care if he died a violent death? It was almost guaranteed with the way he lived his life.

But he couldn't stop the feeling of apprehension which twisted up through his gut at the thought of what might happen should the lunatic now encounter whoever these people were.

Either the Joker would kill them all, or they'd kill him, or worst still, if they somehow convinced the Joker to join their operation, though that seemed entirely unlikely. The Joker played for no team but his own.

Either way, Batman wanted to prevent any scenario, and halt this organization dead in its tracks, before it gained too much momentum.

"I need your help." He heard himself mumble.

"Huh?" The Joker said from behind.

Bruce brought his eyes up, staring ahead. His mouth was turned in to a deep frown.

"I need your help." He said again, the words feeling like acid in his throat.

He waited for it, for the mocking laughter or the sly, insulting remark.

But nothing came and only silence filled the alley.

After a time, Bruce turned, looking back over his shoulder, and found the Joker, still sitting there, staring intently at the snow which had started to fall.

"Did you hear me?" He asked, turning more fully.

The Joker blinked, than gave a single nod, remaining silent.

He appeared transfixed with the slowly drifting snowflakes.

Batman sighed, stepping towards him.

"Well will you?"

"Will I what?" The madman asked, still not looking at him.

"Will you _help_ me?"

Finally the clown brought his eyes to the vigilante, looking up at him.

He smiled.

"I do that _near_ every night darling." He said. "Though you may have convinced yourself it's something different."

Batman breathed out heavily through his nose. Why did the maniac have to be so damned _annoying_ all the time?

He had to restrain himself from ringing the thin man's scrawny neck.

"Will you or will you _not_ help me?" He pushed, losing his patience fast.

The Joker shrugged.

"That depends. What is it you want help with? It's a bit unusual, don't you think? Asking your _sworn_ enemy for assistance in _any _endeavor might not sit so well with your friends and associates." He chuckled. "And a creature as dastardly as I, I'm sure you would attest yourself, can only bring trouble."

Bruce huffed.

The Joker admitting to his own unreliability should have been enough to convince him this was a bad idea. But somehow he found himself more concerned with what might happen should he not bring the lunatic in to the situation himself.

"I need your help stopping these people." He admitted, though grudgingly.

The Joker laughed and Batman wanted to hit him.

"Do you normally find me in the business of superheroing?" He asked, clearly sarcastic. "It's not quite my style dear, trying to prevent the inevitable. That's more your territory."

"This isn't inevitable!" The vigilante spit.

"It is." The clown disagreed. "You stop this group; another will emerge to take its place."

Batman glared at him, his mouth set in a firm line.

This was useless.

"Fine." He said. "Then I'll take you back to Arkham."

He reached out, ready to take the madman by his jacket.

The Joker fell back, away from him.

"Okay." He said.

Bruce stopped, his hands still outreached.

"Okay?" He asked.

The Joker smiled almost bashfully.

"Okay, I'll help you." He said.

Batman looked surprised.

"Better than dealing with the dullness of that place." The madman said as if to explain.

The crusader straightened, dropping his hands to his side.

"Good." He said.

The lunatic actually frowned at that.

"Don't think you've actually forced me in to something I wouldn't have otherwise done." He said. "I was going to say yes, either way." He grinned.

"Of course." Bruce answered, smirking.

"It's true." The Joker said back, calm. "I simply was seeing how hard I'd have to push before you gave up."

Now Batman frowned, eyeing the madman with disgust.

And then he turned.

"Meet me at the park." He said, his voice flat. "Tomorrow night."

He took out another grapple gun, aiming it towards the surrounding buildings roofs.

"Wait." He heard the Joker call out after him.

He stopped dead, not bothering to turn.

He could hear the lunatic shifting around, pushing himself to his feet.

"Don't go." He again heard the Joker say and at this he turned slightly, looking back over his shoulder.

"What?" He asked, his tone cold and heavy.

The Joker was looking at him directly, his hair half fallen in front of his eyes.

"Don't go." He said again, pushing the green strands up and back.

Batman's eyes narrowed.

He said nothing.

The Joker continued to look at him a moment longer before he turned away, his eyes going to the alleyways entrance.

"We should get something to eat." He turned his gaze back.

Batman's mouth twisted to a frown and he turned more fully towards the madman.

"Are you out of your mind?" He said and without hesitation the Joker erupted in to laughter.

"D-did you really just _ask_ me that!" He giggled madly.

Bruce rolled his eyes and again turned, beginning to walk away.

The Joker gasped out, trying to control his laughter.

"W-wait, heehee… D-don't go! Heeheehee." He staggered after the crusader.

Finally he caught up to him, moving up alongside him. Bruce could see the back of his suit soaked wet from the snow.

"I'm serious." He said. "Let's get some take out or something."

Batman turned, moving in the opposite direction, towards the alley's entrance, increasing his pace.

"I'm not eating with you." He practically spit, his voice clipped in anger.

"Ohhhh, come _on_!" The Joker whined and Bruce noticed he was practically skipping alongside him now to keep up. "I know this great place, just a couple blocks from here. I go there all the time. No one will care."

Batman stopped walking abruptly, turning to look at the madman, his expression one of disbelief.

"No one will care." The Joker reiterated. "I promise. I go there all the time."

"Why are you so much like a _child_!" Bruce hissed.

And suddenly the Joker looked confused.

"What do you mean?" He asked, sounding genuinely bemused.

"Do you really not realize we can't be _seen_ together?"

Still the Joker looked lost.

"You're a wanted _criminal_ Joker!" Batman nearly yelled, losing his patience. "If I catch you, I'm supposed to bring you in, remember?"

The Joker smiled.

"Oh, you're so sweet." He chuckled. "We're _both_ criminals darling. Didn't you know? Vigilantism is _against_ the law."

"It's not the same." Batman shot back. "I work with the police. I have a _relationship_ with them. If I were to be seen doing _anything _with you other then beating you to hell, that relationship would be placed in jeopardy and I wouldn't be able to fight crime as effectively."

For several seconds the Joker said nothing, just staring at the detective, his expression blank.

And then, suddenly, he erupted in to laughter, bending over at the waist, slapping his knee.

"Oh hoho. You really are _so_ sweet." He giggled. "You really are."

Bruce just glared at him.

Finally the lunatic's hysterics began to die down and he straightened.

"Listen…" He said. "I know you're concerned about your image and all that." He waved a dismissive hand. "So how about this. You can wait outside. Hide in a nearby alley way or something. I'll go in, get the food to go, and we can go back to my place and eat?"

Bruce continued to glare.

"You're serious?" He finally breathed. "You really want me to do this with you?"

"Yeeeeees!" The Joker exclaimed, grabbing hold of Batman's hand and pulling him in the restaurants direction. "Now come onnnn!"

At first Batman refused to budge, standing stiffly as the Joker pulled vainly on his arm, trying to get him to move.

Finally he stopped, placing his hands on his hips and looking at the crusader with disappointment on his face.

"Come _ooooon_ Batsy." He practically begged. "It'll be fun!"

Again he grabbed hold of Bruce's arm, pulling.

Bruce rolled his eyes, finally allowing himself to be moved forward.

He couldn't believe he was doing this.


	9. Chapter 9

**I don't know if anyone still cares about this story. It's been so long since I updated it. But if any of you are still out there, I'm REALLY sorry about it. I've just been so caught up in other stuff. I have a lot of stories I've never gotten around to finishing, but I hope maybe someday I can get them all done. Anyway, here's an update for you all and I hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 9:**

As he was being dragged along, the Joker rambling on and on about how much he was going to love the food and how much fun this would be, that they could talk about their "team-up", as he referred to it, he tried to convince himself that it was a good way to keep an eye on the madman, to see he didn't cause any trouble. But deep down, he knew that was a lie. If he really hadn't wanted to do this, he could easily have just left and there wasn't a damn thing the Joker could have done about it. But here he was, letting himself be taken, the ultimate intent, apparently, to get food and take it back to the Joker's "place", where, supposedly, they were going to eat it.

This was all kinds of absurd.

In the time Bruce's thoughts were whirling around about how ridiculous this all was, they'd apparently arrived at their destination.

"We're here doll. You sure you don't want to come in?" He heard the Joker ask.

Batman brought his gaze to him, shaking his head.

The Joker shrugged.

"Well then, just wait here and I'll be back in no time." He said, turning and striding without hesitation in to the place.

Bruce's eyes went wide, his mouth opening to call after the lunatic, wanting to ask if he was planning on _paying_. But the Joker had already gone through the door.

Bruce sighed, bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

Eyeing the restaurant, it appeared to be nothing more then a somewhat run down looking, 1950s styled diner. Bruce could see through the large, glass storefront that they served root beer floats and ice cream.

His shook his head.

The Joker really _was_ like a child.

Just… a child possessing incredible intelligence and sadistic intent.

He watched the madman through the glass, noting how the attendant working the counter immediately straightened once he noticed who had just walked in, giving his full attention towards his new customer.

The Joker had walked straight to the counter, placing his hands flat atop it, looking up at the chalk board hung behind it, a menu written there.

He was ordering, obviously, the attendant writing everything down furiously on to a note pad.

He saw the Joker hold up two fingers.

Reading his lips, he saw him say "That's two of each."

The attendant nodded frantically.

The Joker nodded in return, a giant grin sliding on to his lips.

And then, to Batman's mild shock, the madman reached in to his pant pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, peeled off what looked like a $100.00 bill, tossed it on the counter, said "Keep the change.", and then went to sit at one of the places tables, apparently to wait for the order.

This was absolutely insane, Bruce thought, beginning to pace frantically. Here he was, _waiting _outside some dive, throwback diner, _waiting_ for the Joker to pick up an order of food. And for what!? So they could go back to his "place", whatever that meant, and _eat _together? Wasn't it just that sort of thing which had led to this unmitigated disaster in the first place?

As the minutes past, the crusader began to work himself in to more of a tizzy, and just when he'd convinced himself to simply leave, he heard the restaurants door bell sound and he looked up, seeing the Joker striding from the place, towards him, a big grin plastered across his face, a heavily filled plastic bag hanging from his arm.

"You're still here!" He exclaimed. "This can only be indicative of progress!"

Batman glared angrily at him.

"Here." The Joker held the bag out to him. "You take it. "

The detective looked at him with bemusement.

"Come now, where's my night in shining armor? You're the stronger of us, so you take it. I'll lead the way."

For a moment more, Bruce just stared at him, and at last, he reached out, taking hold of the food.

The Joker smiled wider before turning, beginning to walk away, down the street.

Bruce followed behind, keeping a space of a few feet between them.

"You're going to show me where you're staying?" He finally asked.

"Of course." The Joker answered, not stopping.

"Why?" Bruce pressed. 

"Why not?"

"Criminals aren't usually in the habit of showing me where it is they're hiding away." The vigilante said.

The Joker laughed, continuing to walk.

"Well dear, I think I'm safe in assuming that there's a great deal of differentiation between the terms of our relationship and the relationships you hold with any other member of the underground element."

Bruce's eyes widened slightly, his mouth opening to say something in response, only then realizing he'd drawn a blank.

The Joker chuckled softly and for the rest of their journey, the two men were silent.

The madman's place of residence ended up being several blocks from the diner and it took them some time before they reached it.

"Just this way." The Joker informed, entering in to a decrepit looking tenement building.

Bruce followed, moving up a stair case after the thin man.

Finally the Joker stopped on the second floor, reaching out to a door, opening it.

"You don't lock your door?" Batman questioned.

The Joker looked at him, amusement in his eyes.

"If someone breaks in, usually they have the sense to leave, once they see the places occupant."

"There's a lot of people who _hate_ you Joker." Bruce answered. "Aren't you concerned some _wronged_ citizen will find out where you live and come to kill you?'

The Joker smiled, stepping in to the apartment.

He waved a hand.

"Not half as concerned as you, apparently." He replied.

Bruce huffed, following him in, kicking the door shut with his foot.

"You can just put it down over there." The Joker pointed to a dusty, wooden table, at one end of the living area.

Without really thinking about it, Bruce complied, placing the bag down.

He ran his eyes over the place then, noting its similarity to the last apartment he'd found the Joker in, the most notable difference being this one had a bit more furnishing.

He watched the Joker move to a dresser, pressed against a wall, and opening a drawer, he began to remove articles of clothing.

"Sit down." The clown said. "I'm going to take a shower."

Batman followed him with his eyes as he moved for what was obviously the bathroom, disappearing in to it, closing the door behind him.

A moment later and he heard water running, followed quickly by loud, brash singing.

This was too bizarre.

He breathed out through his nose, moving for the bed he spotted, again in the room's upper right corner. He reached out to feel the mattress before deciding finally to sit.

Like the last one, he noticed the apparent cheapness of the bed, able to feel every spring beneath the things thin top layer. And also like the last one, he saw the pillow was stained with dried blood.

He shook his head.

What was he _doing_?

He told himself he should leave. That that would be the _right _thing to do.

The problem was, he really didn't _want _to.

And just as he realized so, he heard the water shut off.

Less then a minute later, the bathroom door opened and out came the Joker, barefoot, wearing only a pair of blue slacks and an unbuttoned short sleeve Hawaiian shirt, leaving his chest and stomach exposed. His hair was dripping wet, on to his shoulders, and when he saw Batman, he grinned.

"Hey babe." He said, walking towards the crusader, sitting down beside him on the bed.

"So, do you want to eat here or…" He began to chuckle lightly. "Would you prefer the _dining _area."

**Chapter 10:**

"You don't have any chairs." Batman answered, shifting his gaze to the table he'd placed the food on.

The Joker glanced to it as well, than shrugged.

"We'll sit on the floor." He answered.

Bruce eyed him incredulously.

"Come on." The Joker stood suddenly, waving Bruce to follow as he moved for the food.

Bruce remained where he was, watching as the madman began unloading the bag, placing several, white containers down.

"Okay." He began. "We've got ham sandwiches some pasta salad, a couple of cokes…" Suddenly he turned, grinning widely, holding a container in his hands. "But _this_… this is the best part." He wiggled his eyebrows up and down, opening the box. Inside, it looked to Bruce to be two slices of pie. "This place has the absolute _best _apple pie you've ever tasted." The Joker went on emphatically.

Batman stared silently for a moment before finally, unable to help himself, he smirked.

"I'm _serious_." The Joker huffed, closing the box up, placing it down.

"I'm sure." Batman said.

The Joker breathed out heavily through his nose, turning around and rummaging again through the bag.

Gathering up the boxes he turned back to Bruce, walking towards him.

When he reached him he held out a stack of the containers, a plastic fork with it.

Bruce took it, keeping his eyes on the madman as he sat down on the floor, his own food in hand. And he continued to watch him as he opened the cartons, beginning to eat.

The Joker looked up at him after a moment.

"Aren't you going to eat?" He asked.

Bruce frowned.

"What, do you think I _poisoned _it?" The Joker laughed.

Bruce shook his head.

"No." He answered.

"Well then, why aren't you eating?"

"I…" The detective began. "don't know." He answered, turning to look at the boxes in his hands.

He brought his eyes back to the Joker.

"Why are you doing this?" He suddenly asked.

The Joker stopped eating then, bringing his gaze to Batman.

"What?"

"_This_. Why did you bring me here?"

"Because…" The Joker answered. "I wanted to."

"There must be some reason." Batman pressed. "It's dangerous for you, my knowing where you are."

The Joker smiled.

Bruce could feel himself growing agitated.

"Look at you!" He spit. "You have no weapons on you. If I wanted, I could mess everything up for you, right now. I could beat you up, take you back to Arkham…"

The Joker's laughter cut him off.

Bruce glared angrily at him.

"But you won't." The Joker managed through his hysterics.

"You don't know that." The vigilante spit.

"Yes I do." The Joker shot back. "You won't because you don't _want _to. What you _do_ want is to be here. Just admit it Bats and you'll be fine."

Batman could feel the anger boiling up in him, ready to spill over as he gripped tighter the containers.

The madman was _mocking _him, _again_.

Suddenly, without warning, the crusader stood, tossing the boxes down and lunging forward, taking the Joker by the collar of his shirt, jerking him up violently, causing the lunatic to drop his own food.

"No!" He hissed. "You _don't_ know. You don't know _anything_!"

The Joker frowned.

"You made me drop my food." He said, his tone bored, seemingly unconcerned by Batman's sudden rage, and it only served to further fuel the vigilante's anger.

He growled furiously, lifting the Joker up fully before fast slamming him down, on to his back against the wood floor.

"And _now_ Joker!?" He fumed. "_Now_ what do you say?!"

The Joker rolled his eyes.

"Don't be so predictable." He sounded bored. "You're only doing this to convince yourself I'm wrong when you _know_ I'm right."

Bruce glared angrily at him before letting go an angry huff, lifting him up one more time and throwing him down.

He turned, pacing quickly to the other side of the room.

The Joker eyed him, pushing himself back to a sitting position.

"You're staggeringly insecure darling." He said.

Bruce's mouth twisted in to a frown as he bowed his head, his fists still clenching tightly.

The Joker was right, both before and now. He _didn't_ want to go, he _didn't_ want to take the madman back to Arkham… and his denial didn't render him unreflective. He knew also that he _was_ insecure, living in constant fear of failure, of disappointing both himself and others. He was afraid of being wrong, of _doing _wrong, of not being good enough, or strong enough, or determined enough. He'd attacked the Joker because the lunatic's words had reminded him how he was giving in to desire, acting out what he _wanted _rather then what was _right_. And, to him, that was a sign of weakness.

Delving deeper still, he realized then just _why_ he felt so relaxed around the Joker, despite the obvious danger someone unstable as he was presented. He never could admit it to anyone outside himself, but in many ways, he envied the madman. He was jealous of his ability to _not care_. Not care what others thought or felt. How he paid no mind to what was expected of him, either from people or society. How he had no concern, even for his own safety. He did things he _knew_ would enrage others, make them angry enough to want to hurt him, to want to _kill_ him, and still, he didn't worry. He was without _fear_. He wasn't afraid of disappointment, or of losing. Bruce had accused him before of being a control freak, but the truth was, the Joker was just the opposite. He abandoned himself to chance, to a _lack_ of control, embracing whatever the result may be, completely comfortable with whatever it was, adapting himself _to_ it, rather then trying to force it to fit to the way he would prefer. The Joker understood, somehow, that ultimately, he was without any _real_ power, that life would lead him whichever way it chose, and that there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

And the Joker loved it. The fact enthralled him.

And that, ironically enough, _made_ him incredibly powerful.

_Because_ he wasn't concerned with control, or with the ability to dictate how his life would be, how his world would be, he wasn't concerned with rules, or limits. He wouldn't _refrain _from anything because, in the end, he didn't care what the result would be, what the consequences would be, either for himself or anyone else. And, so, he would do however he pleased. Whatever struck his fancy at any given time. Anything went with the Joker. There were no bounds, nothing was impossible, nothing was untouchable or unacceptable or unfathomable. Nothing was right or wrong, good or bad, just or unjust. There was nothing that couldn't be done, no _should be's_. Ultimately, he indulged his every desire, acted on every impulse and thought and want, regardless of the outcome. Because he _just. didn't. care_.

And that was something Bruce envied deeply.

Being around the Joker, the vigilante was reminded of how completely _free_ the madman was. Being around him made _him_ feel free.

He straightened, turning to glance over his shoulder at the lunatic, who was watching him with bright eyes.

"You're right." He said, his voice low, and for the briefest of moments, actual shock ran across the Joker's face.

And then, just as quickly, the shock melded in to a smile.

Bruce moved closer to him, finally lowering himself until he too was sat on the floor.

His carton had opened when it hit the floor and now all the food was scattered about, as was the Joker's from when he'd dropped it.

Batman gestured to it.

"I'm sorry about the food." He mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I'm _sorry_." Batman said more loudly, embarrassed. "… About the food."

The Joker smirked.

"That's alright." He answered. "We still have the pie. And besides, I never did mind eating off the floor." He reached down suddenly, grabbing his sandwich and taking a bite.

Bruce watched him with interest.

"The floor isn't exactly _clean _Joker." He said, his mouth twisting slightly in disgust.

"It's just dusty." The Joker answered, taking another bite. "I forget to eat all the time." He went on. "When I remember, I like to finish my meals."

Bruce continued to gaze at him, his eyes finally moving to the madman's exposed torso.

He noticed the expansive areas of scar tissue. It would be impossible to miss.

He'd seen them before, in medical photographs taken of the madman in Arkham, and before, times when the Joker's clothes had torn while they were fighting, or when he'd shown up shirtless.

But he'd never allowed himself to pay much attention.

Pretending such horrible disfigurements didn't affect him.

Now, sitting silently together, and with more light to view him, the detective stared at them in fascination.

He'd been responsible for some of them, he knew. But the majority, he could tell, had been caused by weapons designed to kill. Usually he just caused bruising, sometimes he would break the lunatic's bones. But he never had shot or stabbed him, or cut him open wide. Some of the scarring indicated, though, that someone _had_.

He remembered the Joker telling him once,

"What happened to you?" He heard himself ask without really meaning to.

The Joker stared at him in confusion.

Inwardly Bruce cursed himself for allowing the question to escape his lips.

But it was too late now.

"All that scarring." He went on, looking again to the Joker's stomach and chest.

The Joker looked down at himself before quickly bringing his eyes back to the vigilante.

"Oh, you know, all _kinds _of things." He laughed.

"Do you get in to a lot of fights?" Bruce pressed.

The Joker shrugged.

"Mostly with you." He grinned.

"But I didn't cause those."

Again the Joker shrugged.

"No." He agreed. "You didn't."

"Then who did?"

"Lots of people. I can't remember them all."

"All in street fights?" Batman went on.

"_Most_ of them." The Joker continued to chuckle lightly. "Not all though."

The detective looked at him questioningly.

"People like to have their fun when the can." The Joker said.

Batman's mouth twisted to a frown.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

The Joker smirked then, and leaning forward, his lowered his voice, almost whispering.

"I've been around, Bat-babe. And I've encountered some _very_ dangerous people." He laughed lightly.

"You mean…" Bruce looked shocked.

The Joker leaned back then, putting the sandwich down and resting his palms on the floor.

"You know, disgruntled business partners, mob dealers mad that I've messed up their plans. Street gangs." He laughed again. "I've even had to deal with hired assassins. Can you believe?"

Bruce still held a look of astonishment.

"Don't be so surprised." The Joker went on. "I know it may seem that way, but it's not _impossible_ to get the drop on me. Difficult? Absolutely. But not impossible. I've been hit from behind more times then I can remember. And, as you know, those shots to the back of the head almost _always_ do you in." He chuckled. "Sometimes it's that. Other times its power in numbers. Something I'm _also _sure you know about. Enough guys come at you at once, and even with a fighter as skilled as yourself, there isn't much you can do about it. I've woken up in some precarious positions, to say the least." He laughed once more. Then shrugged. "Of course, here I am. We'll just say it hasn't ever turned out well for any of my many captors. And news travels fast. People tend to stay away, once they find out what happens."

As the Joker told him this, Bruce had begun to feel a terrible anxiety rise up in his chest, sudden and powerful concern. And he realized all at once it was caused over actual worry _for _the Joker.

"Anyway dear, enough about me." The madman's voice jarred him from his thoughts and Batman saw him stand suddenly. "Here…" He said, moving again to the table, taking up the boxed pie. He moved back towards Bruce, holding the container out to him. "I don't have any plates." He informed.

Bruce took it from him, focusing his eyes on it.

"What about you?" He asked, looking back up.

The Joker shrugged.

"I'll have mine later." He answered.

The detective continued to gaze at him a moment before finally bringing his eyes to the floor. He saw the plastic fork there and bent to pick it up.

The Joker watched him intently as he took a bite of the pastry and suddenly he began to chuckle lightly.

Batman looked up at him.

"What?" He questioned defensively.

The Joker shook his head.

"You didn't even ask me if I'd poisoned it." He answered, still laughing. "Like I said, progress."

Bruce stared at him, than looked back to the pie, then to the madman again.

"Did you?" He asked.

The Joker grinned.

"No." He answered simply.

And somehow Bruce knew he was telling the truth.

"I have to go." He said, placing the box back down.

"Oh, so soon?" The Joker pouted.

"Alf…" Bruce caught himself. "I just have to go."

The Joker smiled wide.

"No secretes between us, my dear." He winked.

Batman blinked at him, confused.

"What?" He managed.

But the Joker only continued to grin.

"What do you mean?" Batman persisted.

"You know…" the lunatic moved to the bed, sitting down. "If I remembered anything of my past, I'd tell you what it was." He shrugged. "But I don't." He gazed at the vigilante, his green eyes seeming impossibly clear. Batman always thought it had been their color that made them look that way, that intense, almost fluorescent green. So unnatural looking. Like they would glow in the dark if the lights were turned out. "But you remember yours. It's your excuse for what you are."

Batman stared hard at the madman, and suddenly he stood.

"… I'm leaving now." He said flatly, not wanting to engage in this conversation again.

"Why don't you stay?" The Joker asked.

"I can't." The crusader was quick to answer.

"That's defeatist Batsy." The lunatic grinned. "Of _course _you _can_. What's to stop you?"

Batman frowned, saying nothing.

"If you're worried about that old man you live with, don't be." The Joker went on. "He'll be fine. Just call in on your little bat communicator or whatever it's called and let him know you're pulling an all nighter!"

The crusader felt his heart seize up, staring for a moment gape-mouthed at the madman.

"… What did you…?" He started after a moment, finding his voice.

The Joker chuckled, cutting him short.

"You aren't surprised I _know_ of him, are you?" He asked, sounding incredulous. "Darling, if I know who _you _are, well then _of course_ I would be aware of all your very best friends and associates. Though I use the term _best_ loosely. In that guise of philanthropic playboy billionaire you wear during the day, maybe. But we both know in your true form, I'm your best and only _real _friend."

His grin widened, staring at the vigilante knowingly.

Bruce felt sick.

It was one thing for the Joker to know about him.

He could defend himself against the lunatic if ever he really needed to.

But Alfred and… and everyone else…

If the Joker were to go after them… _Really_ go after them, it would be…

"Oh, don't look so _distressed_ Bats." The Joker suddenly disrupted. "It's not as if I'm going to _kill _him."

Batman blinked, looking back. He could feel his heart, hammering in his chest from the words, mouth going dry.

The Joker smiled almost warmly at him, able to see it.

"Oh, sweet little dear, for someone intelligent as you are, you so often let your heart lead. _Think _for a moment. If I'd wanted to go after the teetering old fool, I'd have done it long ago. Years ago, really. And the same is true for every _other_ member of your extended, mal-formed family. I have no interest in them, truly. Not unless they make the mistake of interfering in our own relationship."

For an instant, Batman felt a spark of anger, disgust boiling inside him for the way the Joker spoke of the people he cared about. The desire suddenly taking him to slap that ridiculous grin right off the maniac's face.

But no… no. That was exactly what the Joker _wanted_ him to do, and he wasn't going to fall prey to that trick again.

He breathed in deeply, letting it out slow before fixing his eyes hard on the Joker, staring with unflinching focus.

Most anyone else would have glanced away in that moment.

The Joker only held his gaze back.

"Joker, if you ever go near any of them, I'll make sure you regret it. Understand?"

The Joker just smiled.

"Well Batman, I can hardly be held responsible for what happens to your little birds when they so often insist on accompanying you on your nightly escapades. But in their boring suites and day wear, and the silly lives they pretend to lead, I promise on my uncles' grave, I won't touch them. Nor that slavish man-servant of yours. Like I said, they hold no interest for me." His smile grew. "It's only _you_ I've got my sights set on, dear."

A heavy silence fell over the two then, each of them looking back at one another.

Neither speaking.

And it was suddenly the lunatic's grin turned childish, his eyes big and bright.

He patted the mattress he was sitting on.

"Besides," he said, voice light and cheerful. "if you stay, I'll let you have the bed!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks to everyone for all your lovely reviews on the last chapter. I appreciate them more than I can say. Hope you enjoy this one!**

**Chapter 10:**

Batman almost laughed, staring a long moment at the lunatic, unable to keep the smirk from his lips.

"That isn't much incentive Joker." He said, folding his arms over his chest. "I think the floor might be more comfortable than that bed of yours."

The Joker's brow furrowed, frowning slightly as he looked down, pressing his palms down across the mattress, pushing against it.

It creaked under the weight.

"I think it's pretty comfortable." He said, looking back up to the crusader.

Batman looked back disbelievingly, silent a moment before his head shook.

"Well I guess to you, it would be." He at last replied, remembering the Joker's last place of residence.

The madman wasn't exactly used to luxury. And the beds at Arkham weren't exactly soft.

"If you mean that I've slept worse places," the Joker suddenly grinned. "you'd be right."

Bruce found his lips pulling down at the corners.

Eyeing the clown a long, few seconds.

"Why do you treat yourself this way Joker?" He heard himself abruptly ask, not even sure why.

And the Joker's expression shifted into puzzlement.

"Do what?" He asked, confused.

"_This_…" Batman held his hands out, indicating the apartment. "why do you live like this? It's like you don't even try to take care of yourself."

The madman smiled knowingly, his head tilting.

"Well, Batsy, the thing is, I really _don't_." He answered.

"But _why_?" The detective pressed. "If you wanted Joker, you could be living it up the same as so many of these mob dealers do. You could have an organization of lap dogs like Cobblepot. But instead you're holed up in some dilapidated apartment unit, living in practical squalor. You have the biggest ego I've ever encountered in any criminal, and that's saying a lot. And yet you treat yourself like you're worthless."

The Joker leered at him, eyes narrowing.

"You never do quit, do you babe?"

For a long moment, Bruce was silent.

"Quit?" He finally asked.

"Trying to _figure me out_." The madman chuckled. "_Psychoanalyze_ me and all of that."

"I'm just trying to…"

"Understand?" The Joker cut him short, voice mocking. "But only because it frightens you that you _don't_."

Again, Bruce fell silent, glaring at the smaller man, the familiar feeling of anger and frustration rising up in the pit of his stomach.

Trying to push it down.

His mouth fell open, ready to tell the Joker he was leaving, to remind him that they were to meet tomorrow night, at Gossards Park again, around midnight.

Refusing to play this game anymore…

But the lunatic's voice interrupted.

"But enough of that banality." He waved a dismissive hand. "It becomes tiresome Batsy, having to face it in near every loathsome wretch you encounter. So put such silly thoughts from your pretty little head, and let's focus on the now. Hmm? You're above such trivialities. You know the _why _of a thing doesn't matter. And anyway…"

He leaned forward, grin widening unnaturally large, until it appeared almost to be splitting the clown's face in half.

"It's nothing but a futile gesture darling, trying to get inside _here_."

He jammed his own index finger to his temple, eyes locked on Bruce with unnerving intensity, still leering.

And suddenly he stuck his thumb up.

"BANG!" He shouted, making like his hand was a gun, shooting himself in the side of the head.

And Bruce watched, both horrified and disgusted as the Joker fell backwards, dissolving into hysterical laughter, his arms wrapping round himself as though he were trying vainly to contain it.

After a moment, the crusader's mouth pulled into a severe frown, agitation quickly taking him.

And without a word, he turned, going quickly for the door.

The Joker shot upright, his laughter immediately ceasing.

"Don't go!" He nearly shouted to the vigilante's back, leaning forward.

But Bruce didn't stop, continuing towards the door.

It was less than an instant later, he heard a loud crash, the Joker falling off the bed and hitting the floor as he scrambled after the larger man, struggling to his feet.

"Hey, Batsy, come on now, don't go…" he continued to plead, stumbling across the floor.

Batman heard him again crash as he lost his footing, and now he paused, rolling his eyes.

He didn't know how it was the lunatic could at times be so elusive, so seemingly quick and agile, and at others, seem like the world's greatest klutz. Like a literal buffoon.

He waited a long moment, standing stiff, listening to the Joker shifting around, trying clumsily to get back to his feet again.

"Batsy…"

And finally he turned, gazing down at the madman, still splayed on the ground, staring up at him with wide eyes.

And Bruce actually had to suppress the urge to smile.

The Joker actually looked… desperate, almost.

"… don't go." He said, voice so soft, Batman almost hadn't heard it.

The vigilante's brow furrowed, crossing his arms over his broad chest, staring a long moment at the clown.

"Why do you so badly want for me to stay?" He finally asked, watching as the Joker pushed himself up, still crouched down like some frog, balancing on the balls of his feet, his elbows rested on his knees.

The Joker's eyes fell away, giving a shrug.

"'Cause I'm bored Batsy." He answered quietly. "… I could use the company."

His voice trailed off and Batman's eyes narrowed.

"Are you _lonely_ Joker?" He asked, tone mocking, unable to help it.

Again the Joker shrugged.

"A little." He replied, and Bruce couldn't keep the shocked expression from his face.

He hadn't actually expected the Joker to _admit_ it.

The madman's gaze lifted to him again, staring right at him.

"No more than you I suppose." He went on, at last standing. "But then, that's part of why we're so drawn to each other, _isn't it_ dear?"

He smiled, winking.

Bruce frowned.

Jesus, he hated that.

He hated how the Joker always _reversed _everything on you. How even when you thought you'd talked him into a corner, a few, choice words, and suddenly it was you you found with your back to the wall.

But it was fast the smile melted from the madman's lips, his expression falling serious, and he sighed loudly, shoulders slumping as he turned, moving back towards the bed.

Bruce watched as he flopped down on it, lying his head down across the pillow, folding the backs of his hands over his eyes.

"If you _want_ to go, by all means, _do_." He went on. "But you'll be missing a good opportunity to keep an eye on me."

A long moment went by, the crusader waiting to see if he would say anything else.

And then his head cocked to the side.

"Is that a _threat _Joker?" He asked.

That elicited a sharp peel of laughter from the lunatic, his hands still over his eyes.

"Oh ho, Batman, so _defensive_!" He grinned. "I'm only appealing to your moral standard. I can hardly account for _myself_ buttercup, and am simply informing that, were someone with me capable of holding my _interest_, it might greatly lessen the chance of my beginning to wander about."

His hands fell away, his face turning towards the larger man, smiling warmly.

"And besides, you don't _really_ want to go, do you? I mean, it's so _cold _out there…"

"It's cold in _here _Joker." Bruce retorted, his voice pitched in more annoyance than he'd intended.

"But not _as_ cold Batsy." The Joker informed.

And suddenly he pushed himself up.

"Come on. Stay with me!" He continued to beg. And now he was folding his hands together against his chest, sitting up on his knees. "Pretty please, with sugar and raspberries and syrup and tuna fish and whipped cream and raisons and chocolate and peanuts and apple slices and cereal and…"

"ALRIGHT!"

The Joker flinched, falling backwards.

Batman frowned deeply.

"Alright?" The madman asked.

Bruce could feel his teeth clench, his voice coming begrudgingly.

"Alright, I'll stay." He muttered.

"You'll stay?" The Joker again asked.

"I just said alright! Didn't I?" The detective snapped.

And he already was regretting it as he watched the wide grin form across the Joker's red lips, pulling back over his piano key teeth.

Regretting it more as, in a flash, he was up off the bed, practically leaping at Bruce. And he fell across the larger man, his arms coming around his neck, hugging him tight.

"Ohhh, we're going to have _so _much fun!" He nearly squealed with excitement.

Bruce felt an abrupt shot of anger, not even thinking as he reached up, grabbing hard hold of the Joker's wrists, pulling his arms off and shoving him away with enough force to cause the lunatic lose his footing.

His insides clenched, watching how easily the madman went down, the back of his head hitting and snapping against the floor as he collapsed.

Damn it…

He hadn't meant to push him so hard…

He didn't even think he _had_.

"Joker!" He exclaimed, stepping towards him.

But the Joker only began to giggle, trying to roll over onto his hands and knees, crumpling a second later.

"Wooo, hoo, hoo, playing rough, are we?" He asked, still laughing. "Heehee, ev… everything's all _dizzy_ now!"

"Joker, I didn't mean to…" Bruce was kneeling beside him suddenly, reaching out, taking him under the arms.

"Oh, it's… it's not so bad Batsy…" the lunatic continued to giggle. "I'll be alright in a minute."

Trying to get up again, and he fell right into the crusader, only laughing harder as his face fell against his chest.

"Don't get up." Batman ordered, trying to ignore the feeling of guilt building in his stomach. "Just sit here a minute."

The Joker continued to chuckle.

"Aww, Batsy, you _care_!" He said, still against the detective.

"I don't _care _Joker." Batman shot. "I just didn't mean to push you so hard."

"You care." The Joker countered smoothly. "It's always been your greatest weakness. And the thing that most frustrates too." He laughed again, finally looking up.

Bruce's mouth pulled into a thin line, staring back, saying nothing.

Deciding again to ignore the comment, and not engage.

Jousting verbally with this man only ever landed him in hot water.

"Are you still dizzy?" He asked instead.

The smaller man shook his head, grinning.

"On the scale of blows I've taken to the back of the head sweetheart, this one doesn't even register." He giggled. "But it's kind of you to _ask_."

A moment past.

"Even though you caused it…" He added, smiling.

Bruce frowned.

"Shut up and come on." He replied, taking hold of the clown, beginning slowly to lift him up.

For an instant, the Joker swayed, seeming like he would fall again, and the crusader's grip on him tightened.

"Are you okay?" He asked hastily.

"Ohhh, heehee, I think maybe, hee… maybe that tumble I took off that roof last night is making it worse, haha…"

"_What_?" Batman asked, alarmed, looking down at the Joker as he leaned heavily against him, hand buried in his cape, his other brought up to his forehead. "You fell off a _roof_?"

The Joker nodded, still giggling, as though it were the funniest thing in the world.

"_How_?" The crusader pushed.

"Oh, you know," the Joker said. "roof hopping."

"_Roof_ hopping?"

"Mmm, hmm." The Joker replied, finally seeming to regain his equilibrium. "I misjudged the distance between these two, particular points, I'm afraid and, whoops, just went crashing down. Lucky for me there was a big old snow drift to break my fall, huh?"

For a moment, Bruce only stared back at him, expression incredulous, before finally he shook his head.

"What the hell is _wrong _with you?" He asked.

"I think you've asked me that before babe."

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes up.

"Let's just… get you over here." He at last relented, beginning to walk with the lunatic back to his bed.

"But I'm not sleepy yet." The Joker protested, beginning to push back on his heels.

"You don't have to go to sleep!" Batman snapped impatiently. "Just sit down. You might have a concussion. Did you hit your head last night when you fell?"

The madman continued to fight only a moment more before it seemed to register to him what the crusader had said, and his body relaxed, letting himself be brought forward.

His brow furrowed as Bruce helped him down.

"… I don't know." He answered.

"You don't know?"

The Joker's head shook.

"How can you not know if you hit your head last night or not?"

"Well that tends to be something you forget dear, if in fact it occurred." The Joker grinned.

Batman's lips pulled down.

"Did you black out?" He asked.

"No."

"Were you dizzy when you got back up?"

"Probably."

"_Probably_?"

"Well I don't know Bats!" The Joker spat, growing annoyed. "I stumbled out of the alleyway I fell into and the next thing I knew, I was taking the heads off of parking meters!"

Batman's eyes widened, unable to keep the disbelief from his features.

"That was you?" He asked, remembering coming across Baker street last night in his search for the madman, seeing all the parking meters vandalized.

He'd thought at the time it must have been a bunch of delinquents, having a laugh.

"Oh, so you saw?" The Joker smiled excitedly up at him. "I think they look much better with their heads off. Don't you? I mean, the concept of having to pay to park is simply _scandalous_! Yes?"

The detective said nothing, glaring at him.

The Joker shrugged, leaning back against the wall, beginning to pick absently at his nails.

"Well I think I'm providing a service to the _good_ citizens of Gotham Batman. Heh. I mean, all it takes to encourage people into breaking the law is for someone to do it for them first. They'll say to themselves 'Gee willikers, if there's no parking meters, then I don't have to pay the fine!'. They think because there's no way for them to pay, they won't get in trouble. And if they don't think they'll get in trouble, then they have no qualms about breaking the rules. See how that works? People need someone to stand up for them in these _trying_ times dear."

For a long moment, Bruce said nothing.

"… You can't possibly believe that Joker." He finally stated.

The Joker assumed a confused expression.

"… Why not?" He asked.

"Because!" Bruce shot. "You can't possibly think you're _helping _people!"

The smaller man's brow furrowed, a vague frown pulling down along his lips.

"Well of course I can darling!" He replied. "What a silly thing to say."

"Joker, you've _killed _people." The vigilante said, voice thick with disgust. "It's absolutely delusional to think you help them in _any_ way."

And it was for the first time that evening, Batman watched the Joker's face pull in actual annoyance, his mouth setting in a hard line.

"You're the one living a delusion Batman." He said, voice sharp and clipped. "Thinking you're helping them by delaying the inevitable. Giving them _false _hope."

His eyes narrowed, glaringly angrily.

"I'm just helping them to let go _Bruce_. Helping them to _accept_ it, so it doesn't hurt so terribly when everything goes _bad_."

The two men's gazes fixed, hard on one another a long moment, the Joker's lips still pulled in a displeased expression. Before, as instantly as it had come, it melted away, into an again unaffected smile.

"It's _you _I want to help most of all darling." He continued, tone suddenly light. "Who I try hardest with." He chuckled lightly. "Well, since you're the only one really worth helping."

"Your kind of help, I could do without." Bruce finally replied, looking away, his eyes falling lazily over the tiny apartment.

"Ah HA! So you _admit _I'm helping!" The Joker exclaimed triumphantly.

Batman's eyes went bigger, turning back.

"What? No!" He shot. "I just meant…"

The madman was staring at him with a wide, expectant gaze, looking like some demented child on Christmas day, ready to open his presents.

The crusader frowned.

"Gahh!" He growled in frustration. "Never mind!"

The lunatic had a way of twisting everything to fit his agenda.

The Joker pouted.

"Aww, don't be sore Bat-babe. Here, I've got an idea!"

Suddenly he was pushing himself from the mattress, and Bruce watched, bemused, as he dropped down to his knees, half crawling under the bed, his long, skinny legs sticking out from beneath.

A moment later, and he was crawling back out, dragging a stack of what looked like bored games with him, taking them up in his arms and turning, falling over onto his bottom.

He grinned up at the vigilante.

"I have entertainment!" He enthused.

For a long, few seconds, Bruce stared at him, before his gaze fell to the bored games, supported along the Joker's forearms.

"Come on Batsy! It'll be fun!" The smaller man went on, laying the games down along the floor. "Look, I'll even let you choose! We've got…"

And he started un-stacking them.

"Monopoly, The Game of Life, heh, Uno, Scrabble, Mousetrap, ohh, I _really_ like Mousetrap! Risk. Battle master…"

Again he looked up at Bruce, grinning.

"So, which'll it be?"

The detective glared a moment, saying nothing, the madman sitting patiently, waiting.

Bruce wasn't getting into this again.

Not _this_.

"Well?" The Joker finally pressed.

"I don't know how to play any of those…" Batman waved towards the laid out games dismissively.

"Oh, don't lie to me Batman. You never were any good at it." The Joker was fast to counter.

Batman could feel his teeth grind in annoyance, fists clenching.

"And anyway…" the madman went on. "they're all easy enough to learn. You'll pick up on it as you go." He smiled sweetly. "I'll teach you! If you really _don't know_."

Batman glared.

"Joker, I'm not playing any more… _games _with you." He went on insisting, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

The Joker smiled coyly, eyes narrowing.

"You aren't _afraid_, are you dear?" He asked after a moment.

"_What_?" Bruce hissed, turning more fully towards him.

"Really babe, you shouldn't be." The Joker continued as though he hadn't heard him. "This isn't like chess. There's luck over talent involved here. So, your chances of winning are improved!"

Immediately, Bruce felt the anger boil up inside him, trying to press it down.

"Why are you so _obnoxious_?" He hissed, voice clipped.

"I'm not." The lunatic replied calmly. "You only think I am because you know I'm right and you don't like what I'm saying."

"No," Batman countered. "you're the most annoying human being I've ever met."

The Joker shrugged.

"Whatever you say darling." He grinned. "Now, let's play!"


End file.
